The Good Hunter
by StaffSergeant
Summary: The Hunter is adrift and he is not sure the Waking World was supposed to be this strange. Set during the Fall of Lescatie and beyond, watch as a man tormented by the Night of the Hunt tries to find his purpose in a new world... (I'm a bit short on ideas so...yeah, this is just something I'd like to take out for now.)
1. Chapter 1

**Please note. The chapter before this one was just a rough draft and quite frankly something stupid I wrote up while I had a break at work. This is just a little project I've had that was burning a hole in my brain. **

1

The Hunter Adrift

Lescatie. The City of Heroes. It was a powerful seat of the Order, where many veteran heroes were trained and dwelt. It was also a center of culture and refinement, but like many cities that claimed to be the jewels of their kingdoms it also had its own darker aspects. The nobility and clergy were in full control of how the city was ruled. In contrast to the dazzling noble estates and the rich district, the slums were where desperation and hunger ruled and existence was decided by the red blood thirst of a knife blade.

For a man like the Good Hunter, who worked as a caravan guard on good days, Lescatie was home. For now at least. Cyril Sutherland looked up at the stone gate as he sat in the back of a wagon, cradling his Saw Cleaver in his lap. The Hunter's client, a red haired merchant by the name of Alice Lindolm, was busy steering her cart. She did not glance at the mysterious young mercenary she had hired on as a guard.

A Hunter of Beasts. That was what he had called himself and it worked so far. Cyril thought it best to keep his true origins a secret. The Waking World was a strange place, but he did not survive the fateful Night of the Hunt by being complacent. Cyril exhaled through his nose as he kept his head on a swivel. Lescatie may have been a stronghold of humanity but that didn't mean the monsters outside were the only troublemakers.

He had encountered human enemies in Yharnam too. Cyril was disappointed but not surprised to find that it was true here also. He kept a loose grip on his Saw Cleaver as he readied the pistol holstered at his side. Tall, lean and sinister the Hunter was garbed in nondescript clothing under a gray long coat. A tattered tricorne hat sat on his black, gray streaked hair. His features were also obscured by a bandanna that covered the lower half of his face. It was a force of habit that he knew he would never break until his dying day.

Cyril was not looking to attract any attention to himself. Not from the Order. And most certainly not from the beasts that lay outside Lescatie's borders. The monsters who sought the souls of men. If they wanted a fight, they would get one. Cyril hated what he had become, but that did not mean he was a reluctant killer. No, if he had to deal death then so be it.

The Hunter felt the wagon wheel to a stop, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"We're here!" Alice chirped with good cheer. "Thanks again Mister Hunter! I really would have gotten more guards but nobody wanted to accept the payment!"

Cyril shrugged. The cowardice of others wasn't his problem, besides it opened up more opportunity for money anyway. He was hoping to save up enough to buy some land in an isolated area. A place to finally rest his head, months of traveling was getting tiresome. Months of living in the slums, making decent money and fending off thieves was even worse. All he wanted was a nice, quiet farm in an isolated area.

"It is no trouble, Miss Lindolm." He replied politely, but distantly. His voice was muffled by the bandanna he wore. "I suppose you will be staying here for a few days?"

"Mm!" Alice nodded with a smile. "Then, I'll be heading into Order territory so I should be safer." She bowed. "Thank you for helping me! I wasn't sure I would have escaped from those Werewolves if you hadn't been there! What..." At this her head tilted curiously. "What were you doing out there in the first place?"

Cyril shrugged again. "Wandering." He said to her. It was technically the truth although the group of werewolves was honestly a surprise for him as well. He had killed them all without prejudice, of course. A beast was a beast, after all.

And Hunters would always hunt beasts no matter what skin they wore.

/

"Good Hunter."

The Workshop was burning. The Doll and the Hunter stood facing each other in front of it. The Doll's face was the ultimate expression of serenity, but there was a sadness in her eyes. The Hunter sensed the end of things, and honestly wished that he had had more time to spend with her.

It hurt to realize, in the end, that he loved her all the same. And if he finished what he had started then he would never see her again.

"You have come. Dawn will soon break and this night and this dream shall end. Gehrman awaits you at the foot of the great tree."

She gave him a gentle smile. "Farewell, Good Hunter."

The Hunter nodded solemnly and they both bowed, knowing full well that they would ever see each other ever again. He stepped down the path that would lead him to where Gehrman waited. This was it. The end of everything.

Dawn was coming. And whether he lived to see it was in fate's cruel hands.

He walked through the field of white asphodels Saw Cleaver in hand as he finally saw where Gehrman was. He walked, even as he felt the weight of his burdens on his shoulders.

"Good Hunter. You have done well." Gehrman spoke as the Hunter finally stopped. "The night is near its end. Now, I will show you mercy. You will die, forget the dream and awake under the morning sun. You will be freed, from this _terrible _Hunter's Dream."

Mercy. A fine reward for what he had endured. But the Hunter had one last Nightmare to slay. One last favor he owed Gehrman. He refused. He shook his head. Gehrman, seeing at what the Hunter was doing, gave a sad but poignant smile. One that was filled with not just understanding but also a sense of pride.

For almost an eternity Hunter after Hunter had perished under his wing. But this young man, this brave soul had surprised him. He had often wondered just who would be skilled enough to take his mantle. Now it seemed that the time had come to look at the results.

"Dear oh Dear..." He spoke with a chuckle. "What was it? The Hunt? The Blood...or the horrible Dream?"

The Hunter tensed as Gehrman rose from his chair for the first time in what seemed to be a millennia.

"Oh. It doesn't matter. It always comes down to the Hunter's helper to clean up after these sorts of messes."

The Hunter readied his Saw Cleaver as Gehrman revealed his weapon, a great scythe that unfolded from his back.

"Tonight, Gehrman joins the Hunt."

/

Cyril blinked. It had been quite a while since that night, when he had fought Gehrman and left behind his precious Evetta in the Hunter's Dream. The Good Hunter looked to his left, realizing that he had dropped the book he was reading when he fell asleep. The candle was still burning but it was about half of its original size.

The book's title was the Monster Girl Encyclopedia. A bestiary of the monster girls one would encounter in this world. Cyril had bumped into a man who seemed to be in quite a bit of a hurry in the village he had been staying at. The man had dropped this book and Cyril had picked it up, leafing through the pages. It honestly was the strangest thing he had ever read, nothing like the mind blasting grimoires he encountered in Byrgenwerth. He had at first thought the book to be the work of a degenerate or a madman and had tried to search for the person who dropped it but had no such luck. Cyril decided to keep it...whether as kindling or to actually read it, he could not say. Although, judging from the general tone of the guide it seemed that any Order fanatic would charge him as a heretic if they went through his belongings.

The last idiot who tried that with him was now buried alive somewhere.

Cyril scratched at his head as he looked around, still drowsy. The slums of Lescatie were filled with abandoned houses, their former owners having either died or had gone elsewhere to seek better fortunes. The house was small but it served his purposes greatly. It wasn't comfortable but Cyril was long inured to discomforts. The Night of the Hunt demanded many things, and humanity was one of the things he had sacrificed to get through it.

The Hunter placed the book back on the small table and stood up. It was a fine night but the last dream was concerning. He had not thought about that night for many days. Why was it coming back? He surely hoped that it was not a dark omen of troubled times ahead. Cyril lay back against the makeshift bed of hay and tried to get back to sleep.

He had to find work again tomorrow morning, and while the Order could use all the men it could get to combat the monsters he was not looking to get involved in their crusades against the forces of the Demon Lord. Cyril crossed his arms and lowered his hat over his closed eyes.

This time he was snoring within five minutes.

* * *

_That night, on the borders of Lescatie…_

Night was always a time of the day that Demons enjoyed. To a mamono, the nighttime was ripe for sneaking into your husband's bed after a long day of work and making love. To feel the warmth of a male beside you, to hear him whisper your name as you were both carried away by a sea of passion.

Ursula, Captain of the 4th Company, and a Demon of the Fourth daughter's High Court, smiled as she looked up at the full moon. The Demon's pretty face was split by a smile as she imagined being held by a man of high esteem. She stood to her full height and inhaled, smelling a light breeze.

She was a woman, with dusky blue skin. Her modesty was barely preserved by a leotard that left little to the imagination. Her form was perfect, an hourglass figure which balanced out with a considerable height. Long, toned legs were covered by thigh high leggings and black iron greaves and leather boots. Sharp, predatory horns grew out of the sides of her head. A pair of black, leathery wings flapped lazily on her back while a tail, with a spade tip, waved sensually behind her.

Her heart shaped face was framed by dark hair. Lascivious crimson irises set in pools of black gleamed seductively. She was a woman and she knew it.

Ursula looked over to the west, to their destination. Lescatie, a seat of the foolish Order that dared to oppose the Demon Lord's will and the ambition of her own liege.

Druella, the Fourth Daughter and Princess of Royal Makai the seat of the Demon Lord herself.

The Demon made her way back to camp to where her subordinates waited. She heard the scrape of steel and knew Demeter was sharpening her blades.

The Dullahan made to salute but stopped when Ursula raised a hand. The Dullahan's head was separated from the body which was sitting on a log next to a ghostly fire. Ursula knew there were other fires like this, each one surrounded by ten mamono, all of them combat veterans of the highest order. Each one seeking their own prisoner in the invasion to come, but that desire was tempered by the fierce discipline that Ursula trained thoroughly into her soldiers. All Demons in Ursula's clan were like this, her mother and her mother's mother were warriors. It was an unbreakable lineage that stretched back into the age of former demon lords, during reigns of fire and blood and screams.

"Has our agent arrived yet?" Ursula asked, her voice a silky contralto.

"Not yet, Mistress." Demeter replied, dutifully. "There is nothing to report from Seras or from Fina either."

"How about the morale of our troops?" Ursula asked grinning.

"Their blood is up and they are impatient but there are no incidents." Demeter answered. "Our steel is strong as is our conviction."

"I see." Ursula smirked. "Walk with me, my dear."

Ursula and Demeter made their way to the monster camp, walking through the rows of tents hidden by the master mages of the 4th company who held an honored position in Druella's army. Hence why they were sent here first, to scout out the area around Lescatie. They just needed a good route, perfect timing and then...Lescatie would be theirs for the taking.

Ursula could not wait. If there was worthy prey in the city of Lescatie then she hoped they weren't too easy to conquer and break.

She wanted a challenge. She wanted an equal.

* * *

Another successful job, one that took all day and here he was back at the city trying to get paid. It was a simple job, just escorting a farmer and his sons back to the village. Why the man had decided to leave at night was beyond him, but a job was a job.

Cyril counted out his coin, thanked the receptionist at the Adventurer's Guild in Lescatie and walked out of the building. The Hunter adjusted his hat and walked outside into the rain. Well, if he had a successful job he supposed with his luck the universe would have to balance itself out somehow. At least, he had some coin to support his simple lifestyle. He just needed more gold to get some land. Somehow.

The Hunter exhaled as he closed up his coat. The rain was surprising, and not welcome at all. It was almost Fall, and the chill of winter would soon set in, he'd have to reinforce his current living area and get some firewood when the cold inevitably set in.

Wonderful.

Cyril saw a crowd gathering as a carriage passed by. The noble crest indicated who the family was. Lescatie was owned by pretty big wigs who were close to the king. The divide between peasant and noble was clear during those moments. The Hunter didn't care in the slightest. He had his own way of living and everyone else had theirs, there was no point in trying to change anything. Even if he technically was capable of doing so, what was the point? Everyone suffers whether they wanted to or not.

And he was pretty sure the Order had bigger problems to deal with anyway. Cyril was sure that the monsters they constantly threw men and women at counted as bigger problems. The Hunter kept going, enduring the rain and wind as he always did as he made his way back to his ramshackle and humble home.

The crowd eventually thinned as the view of the carriage faded. Cyril didn't bother looking for it. He passed by an orphanage where someone far more kindhearted than he was took care of children who lost their mothers and fathers to man and monster. He fished some coin out of his coin purse and dropped it at the lonely stone basket. It was a habit that he formed when he had first "moved in". The route he took always passed this place and from time to time he had seen the children who lived here, they waved and he simply waved back even if their glances were wary and cautious. They must not like foreigners, these Lescatians. He kept that thought to himself.

Then again, he was always armed with his Saw Cleaver and Hunter's Pistol worn with open hostility. One could never be too careful during the Night of the Hunt and paranoia was indeed a blessing and a curse in his opinion.

"Ah, wait! You there in the hat!"

Cyril stopped and turned back around, curious.

A woman was standing in the rain, wearing a cloak to ward off the rain. She had sea green long hair and was wearing the vestments of a priestess of the Order. She looked beautiful, but utterly exhausted. Cyril recognized her expression because he wore it constantly. The Hunter blinked as he stared at her.

"Yes?" He asked, voice muffled by the cloth mask he wore.

The rain was falling harder now.

"Did you drop coins in that stone basket just now?" The woman asked. "Um...I would like to thank you for donating but...I've never seen you around."

Cyril shrugged his shoulders. "I've been doing it for the past few months." He said plainly. "I moved in...hmm, maybe a few months ago back in the spring time. Apologies, I work as a caravan guard when I am able."

"I...see." The woman said with a kind smile. "Please, do come in. We do not have much, but it would be rude to turn you away without serving some kind of refreshment."

"Apologies, but I have not even gotten your name." Cyril's tone was not unkind but he maintained a certain decorum. He was not about to enter a young woman's dwelling unannounced. "It would be unwise for me to just barge in."

"Ah." The woman nodded. "I see, I see. I understand." She made a curtsy. "I am Sasha Fullmoon. Pleased to make your acquaintance sir."

/

Sasha watched the man when she straightened from her curtsy. He was...strong. A veteran hero like her could see that. He was tall and lean, garbed in outlandish clothes. The tattered hat that sat on his head gave him a beast like visage, his demeanor resembled a scarred and gruesome predator at rest. Even as they stood at a distance Sasha knew the man was observing her for weaknesses to exploit but whether he did so consciously or subconsciously she did not know.

Still, if he was willing to sacrifice a small amount of coin for an orphanage full of children then surely he must have some form of honor right?

To her surprise the man bowed with such grace, Sasha wondered if he was a disgraced noble on the run.

"My name is Cyril Sutherland, a Hunter adrift. I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well, Miss Sasha."

/

The orphanage was based in a small church and judging from the way some of the older children were doing chores it seemed that things here were not so good. It beat dying in the streets though. Cyril ignored the curious stares, merely following his hostess towards the back area where a makeshift kitchen had been established.

"I'm sorry. Our building is in such disrepair that..." Sasha started but then smiled sadly. "The older children do what they can but alas...this is where I ended up caring for them."

Cyril answered. "You have caused no offense." He looked at her with a bland expression. "The roof of my home also leaks if it helps in any way."

Sasha giggled.

Eventually, Cyril was presented with a cup of tea and a small hunk of bread. It was simple fair but it would do. He didn't have anything else to work on, sometimes he enjoyed just sitting down and relaxing. The Hunter often had a brief moment of paralysis, a voice in head telling him to keep moving and that he was in danger. It was...surreal that he was doing this right now, when during that fateful night he was always on the move, always fighting, always killing.

Always dying. A parade of horrific visions went through his mind and he briefly forgot that he was in an orphanage full of children.

"What brought you to Lescatie, if I may ask, Sir Cyril?"

The Hunter blinked out of his reverie. "Nothing." He answered. "It was just a place I was consistently told to visit, people say it's the safest place from the monsters."

"It is." Sasha said. There was something in her tone that made Cyril a mite bit concerned, more so than the fact that she had closed her eyes and sighed. "If...only safety did not come at the cost of the people's prosperity."

Cyril unconsciously scanned his eyes around the church. While Sasha did have a point, Cyril knew that everything in life had a price. He knew that very well. Even then, he admired Sasha for her kindness.

"Salvation often comes at a heavy price." Cyril said softly. He looked outside at the setting sun. He smiled and quickly covered his face again with his bandanna. "Apologies. I did not realize it was getting late. I should get going home."

Sasha bowed her head. "It was nice meeting you, Master Cyril. May you have a blessed evening."

/

Cyril stopped as he heard the faint tune of a music box playing. He _never _had that on display. The Hunter's eyes narrowed as he readied his Saw Cleaver. He stalked forward towards the back door. There didn't seem to be any signs of forced entry so someone was a skilled lock picker.

The Good Hunter exhaled. This was most...irritating. The guards in Lescatie were worse than useless if they could not sense the intruder within their walls. The smell was...female, but off. Sickly and sweet, like crushed flowers. Cyril's eyes narrowed as he opened the door slowly, Saw Cleaver in hand. He could hear the music box, the very same one he had been given by a little girl who sought her father during that one fateful night.

The fact that someone would dare _touch _that memory caused his blood to boil.

Cyril entered the house he had used as a dwelling, and stared down the creature that had dared intrude upon his home.

The female creature looked human, but it was obvious she wasn't judging from the way that a long slender tail waved and wiggled through the air. Black hair, tied into a functional pony tail, pale skin she was garbed in what amounted to a pink sleeveless top. Hardly enough to cover her modesty, although she at least had the sense to wear leggings and light armor.

She held a short sword in one hand, one that she now readied as she saw the owner of the home she had just intruded upon.

"Oh." She said. Her face was obscured by a fox mask, her tone muffled but it was clear she was not expecting someone.

Cyril raised his Saw Cleaver.

/

Murasaki was a Kunoichi, a succubus ninja as her friend in her cadre like to say. She was good at infiltration work, a dab hand at sewing and a fantastic swimmer if she liked to brag. A swordswoman who could hold her own. Nothing during her long years of training would have ever prepared her for the ferocious assault that came from a man who called himself a Hunter.

The Kunoichi barely had time to bring her sword up to block when the demented weapon in the man's hand slammed into her kodachi with the force of a hurricane. Murasaki hit the wall with a grunt of pain, she then had to sidestep as the man swung again making every attempt at killing her. His weapon cleaved into a table. Murasaki swallowed, underneath her mask her eyes had widened at the utter destruction this man was capable of.

"Wait." She said to him, trying to sound as nonthreatening as possible. "We don't have to fight."

The man said nothing, merely continuing to observe her, like a butcher wondering how to serve the best cut of meat. That was what disturbed Murasaki the most. Ordinary men were easy prey for succubi like her, they weren't able to resist. But this man, she sensed nothing from him, his mana was completely gone.

Murasaki swallowed again. Instead, she felt an aura of lethality, a contempt that warned off all sentient life. His eyes were...cold. Lifeless. But whoever was inside that gaze had not only shattered, but had rebuilt himself into something dangerous. Something horrifying. The Kunoichi was in over her head. There was no way she was going to seduce this man.

Ursula and the others had to be warned.

She did not notice the fist that slammed into her face, sending her flying back into the door which fell open. She spilled into the street. Murasaki's ears rang as she felt her shattered mask break into pieces. The Kunoichi staggered up to her feet, looking back at the man who advanced out of his house. His menacing countenance did nothing to help her growing fear.

"You can run. You can fight. You can bleed." The man told her, his voice monotone but laced with a cold fury. "You can do all of that. But I _will _find you. And I will slaughter the rest of your misbegotten kind if you come after me."

Swearing liberally under her breath, Murasaki ran for it. Dimly she heard footsteps and realized that the man was coming after her. Her heart hammered in her chest as a primordial fear of death, something she fought with all her will, began to surge through her body. She ran down one street, heading for one of the city walls, one of which was in disrepair. There was a culvert at its base that she used to enter.

Murasaki looked behind her, the man was gone. Did she lose him? Was she home free? She stopped running and then climbed up the wall of an abandoned house and stayed hiding on the roof. She panted, looking at her hand which was shaking. The Order Heroes were dangerous adversaries for monsters but many of them were charmed by monsters like herself.

This...man, whoever he was, he was strong. Just as strong as a veteran hero. But he had no blessing from a god, or any mana. That and he was more than willing to kill her. The Demon Lord Lilith, blessed be her name, disliked killing but was pragmatic enough to know that banning it was foolhardy. With a heavy heart, Murasaki gripped her kodachi tight.

She was going to have to kill this man if she was going to stand a chance at escaping. Or, failing that, wounding him severely enough to drive him away. There was no other way. Everyone had to be warned, someone dangerous had come to Lescatie but for what purpose-

_Click. _

Her opponent was already behind her. Hanging on to the same roof she had clambered onto, the man pointed a worn flintlock pistol at the back of her head. Murasaki dropped her sword. She heard it clang on the ground below.

"Your name." He stated, his voice cold enough to freeze a river.

"Murasaki." The Kunoichi answered, shakily. She was going to die. She knew it. One trigger pull and the man would splatter her brains all over the ground and her friends would not even be able to find her body. "Murasaki Natsume."

"Who do you work for, Murasaki?" The question was monotone.

"The Fourth Princess of the Demon Realm. I am a Kunoichi in her service." Murasaki answered. "She seeks this city, to conquer it. We all do in order to further her goals. To make the land tremble with the cries of monsters."

"Are you a good one?" The man asked her.

"I...I do my best to complete my objectives." Murasaki answered the question. "I am not the best."

"Is that all?"

Murasaki began to tremble. She just spilled out their objectives, and the man didn't care at all. She had to keep talking, find some way out of this but the barrel of the pistol remained where it was. One shot and she'd be sent to her death. Never to be able to find a husband or have children. She would never return to her home in triumph. Never retire to raise her children or live beside the husband she had found.

"I...I want to be married. I want to find a husband." Murasaki sobbed. "I want to live. That's all I want. I didn't come here to hurt people. I just...I just want to be a mother."

/

Cyril didn't bat an eye. The Hunter had read in the Encyclopedia that monsters sought human males for companionship...The girl whose head he was about to ventilate began to cry as she waited for the end. The Hunter let the barrel drift. He could kill her but then that would attract attention from the Order, because there was a body near his dwelling. If he let her go, she would report his existence to her mistress or whoever was in charge. The bigger issue was the presence of an oncoming army about to hit this place harder than a Cleric Beast after blood.

The Good Hunter bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. He was about to just get this over with. He lowered his pistol. "Do not face me." He said quietly. "I have chosen to give you mercy, but let me make one thing clear: You will not reveal my presence to your mistress. If you do so and she decides to send people after me, I will send them back in pieces. I will then hunt you down and I will kill you all."

He glared at the back of the Kunoichi's head. "Nod if you understand."

The girl nodded.

"Get out of my sight."

Cyril watched her go then slid off the roof and landed deftly on his feet. He kicked the wall of the abandoned house in frustration. He closed his eyes and let out a breath. Wonderful. He was going to be involved in a war, one way or another.

Cyril exhaled.

He hated his life.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Heroes of the Order

"Thank you once again!"

Cyril tipped his hat politely at the receptionist at the table and quietly pocketed his coin. A few more jobs and he could probably afford to get a horse, grab whatever belongings he had in his shabby house and leave Lescatie for good. A week had passed since he had encountered his first monster, and he was already annoyed with the situation.

Firstly, because she had a hand on the music box he owned and secondly he had demolished the only damned table in the house like a degenerate madman. He had a few crates that he had managed to salvage from other abandoned houses but they were all too low, forcing him to stoop over it like an idiot whenever he was eating supper. It may have been a small discomfort but it was still quite infuriating. Thirdly, he didn't have time to go around looking for furniture because now the Order was taking their duties a bit more seriously.

The guards were going around asking questions about possible monster sightings, they had taken particular interest in those who left and returned the city frequently. People like mercenaries and adventurers who had contact with monsters outside of the city.

People like him. Cyril sighed as he blended in with the crowd, something he had long practiced when he entered the Waking World but it won't be enough. Someone would eventually be on his tail and he didn't like that. Worse, things could escalate enough that marshal law would be enacted. He wasn't looking forward to that kind of restriction to his travel at all.

Cyril glanced back cautiously to see if anyone followed him from the adventurer's guild, saw nothing and continued on his journey home. The Good Hunter's stride was slow, he had such troublesome things on his mind that he felt frustrated. It must have shown in his body language because everyone kept away from the gray coated stranger. He looked up to see a troop of guards out on patrol. Cyril quickly changed his route, heading to a side street that would lead into the slums. At least, the presence of the Order was lessened here...for now at least.

Still, this was going to be troublesome. Perhaps he should have killed that thing that had entered his home unannounced. It certainly would have been easier to just bury the body somewhere.

The Hunter entered his abode and removed his hat, lowering his bandanna in the process. His eyes scanned the room and found what he was looking for. A broom. Good. He had some sweeping to do before the day was out. Cyril placed his hat back on and picked up the broom, he began sweeping the front entrance of his home, leaving the door open.

He soon lost himself in the monotony of the task of sweeping the floor of dust and other debris.

/

Wilmarina Noscrim was a Hero, chosen by the Chief God to become the sword and shield of Lescatie. She did not look like it, being that she was only seventeen and on the cusp of adulthood. She looked like an ordinary young girl save for the sword at her side and the hidden aura of divine strength that rushed through her veins. The blessings of the Chief God were given to those who were worthy, and Wilmarina would continue to prove herself worthy of that trust.

She was the strongest hero to have been born in Lescatie and she had just left the orphanage where her superior, Sasha Fullmoon, took care of those orphans. This had been the second time that she had missed him, her childhood friend Elton.

It made her feel guilty, knowing what had happened to him and his parents. What her father did, a black mark that stained her soul. She knew what her father did, and every day she felt nothing but raw uncompromising hatred for the man. For what she did to the one precious person in her life. Wilmarina exhaled shakily and quickly cast her heretical thoughts from her mind.

She was Wilmarina the Hero. And right now, she had an ongoing investigation to go through. She was not about to be distracted by such petty notions of conflict. When the clergy had tasked its holy men and women to search for any signs of infiltration, it made her question the orders. What kind of monstrous foe would seek to destroy the nation of Lescatie? The impenetrable jewel of the Order? Wilmarina kept walking and that was when she saw him.

A stranger was sweeping the outside of his house. Wilmarina had never seen someone so tall and foreboding. A tattered tricorne hat and cloth bandanna hid his features from view. He held the broom and swept dust and dirt out of his home in a monotonous display, his posture was that of a weary man who had seen far too much in a previous life. Wilmarina knew a warrior when she saw one, and this one was strong. Weary, but strong.

"E-Excuse me."

The man ignored her, sweeping his home still. Wilmarina frowned. She hated to use her status but being brushed off like this...It was annoying and rude certainly. Was the man deaf? She hated to think about something-

"Yes?" The man asked, not facing her. He was still sweeping. "You'll have to pardon the mess...The slums are naturally not very clean."

Wilmarina looked around and saw a beggar point at her nervously before running off. "I can...see that." She said. "Um...you don't look like you're from around here."

"So I have been told." Was the pedantic answer. "I just moved in a few months ago, and no I am not interested in joining any Order crusade. I've done more than enough soldiering."

Wilmarina blinked. That was not what she was going to ask at all. So this man had dealt with monsters too?

"B-But surely...You have seen what the monsters do to the innocent people? Can't you at least consider-"

"I have. And I am **done** with this conversation." His voice quieted to a whisper but Wilmarina did not mistake the chill in his tone for joviality. The man turned to face her with dead eyes and an expressionless mask of a face. But, she could tell that his patience was wearing thin.

"I-I apologize." Wilmarina said stiffly. "For disturbing you and causing you distress, good sir. Have a good day."

She left, head down. Wilmarina took one last look as the man continued sweeping before she marched back to the Noscrim estates. She knew Sasha was not mistaken, that her neighbor was a kind, if strange man that made donations to her orphanage. But whatever he was angry about involved her and she did not know why.

/

Cyril knew who that blue haired girl was. Wilmarina Noscrim was the strongest hero in Lescatie and she just came up here for a chat. The Hunter watched her go and that was it. He could have killed her right then and there, but that was a battle not worth risking. He had to be patient and discreet and that meant not starting fights like last night. He was still annoyed about that. He was also annoyed at the fact that Order recruiters were snooping around his abode. His eyes narrowed in irritation.

Fuming, Cyril exhaled through his nose as he finished his chores for the day. He locked the door and headed towards the market. He had enough gold to keep him supplied but he still really needed more coin to get the hell out of dodge and into better territories, and hopefully way before anything major happened like a crusade. Preferably somewhere neutral, where he did not have to deal with man or monster. The Hunter meandered through the market, purchasing his food for supper and other supplies which included lantern oil for his fire bombs.

Collecting bottles was easy enough, many of the slum folk drunk wine to try and forget their situations. It was just too bad it didn't really work for long so they brought more wine. Cyril had been kind enough to take their empty bottles at least. Fire was essential in a beast hunt and many humans did not take too well to being set on fire, and Cyril knew that because he had gotten rid of more than one bandit camp with fire. The Hunter appreciated his tools, they kept him alive.

And if one could not trust his tools then what was the point of having so much equipment at one's disposal?

Carrying his groceries home, Cyril stopped as he saw a commotion up at Sasha Fullmoon's orphanage. A noble, blonde and blue eyed was kicking at the fallen form of a young man who had his hands up. His colleagues surrounded the boy and a crowd was gathering.

_Don't get involved. _

Cyril ignored the sound of flesh hitting flesh, cruel laughter and the pained grunts of the victim.

_Don't get involved. _

The Hunter's fist clenched as he heard the noble make a promise to "burn the orphanage down."

_Don't get involved…_

_I love you Mister Hunter! I love you as much as Mum! And Dad! And Grand dad!_

The Hunter stopped when he heard a voice.

"Big Brother!"

The Hunter saw red. He did not speak as he shoved his way through the crowd, he did not speak as he approached the noble who had his boot on the back of a red haired man's head. He did not speak as the noble laughed in his face, the laughter stopped as the cruel Hunter's hand wrapped around his jaw.

Cyril squeezed and the nobleman screamed as his jaw shattered like glass. The noble kept screaming even as one of his friends drew a knife, a good looking blade. Cyril's eyes locked onto him and the world seemed to slow down as the knife wielding man, boy really, charged at him recklessly. The Hunter flung his first victim out of the way and caught the knife wielder's arm and broke it, bending the limb in an angle that it was really not supposed to go.

The boy began to scream then stopped as the Hunter punched him in the throat, sending him down. The other two made attempts to draw swords but Cyril was faster. Way faster. He lashed out with a punch, the third noble took the blow to the head and went down on his knees, Cyril followed that up with a second punch that sent the man flying. He hit the ground a second later, his head bleeding. The fourth managed to get his blade drawn but Cyril lashed out once more, this time his kick broke the would-be attacker's leg.

The crowd drew back in disgust and fear as the boy's leg bent backwards at an angle that was impossible for a human being. The man's screams echoed through the afternoon air. Cyril panted under his bandanna as he realized what he had done. He had gotten involved. All because of a memory that he had long since buried.

"Big Brother Elt!"

The Hunter turned to the red haired man who was on his knees. Beside him were two girls, one a cheerful brunette with her hair in two bunches and the other a younger blonde with a gentle expression rent with worry.

"I-I'm fine, Lisia." the young man said, trying to chuckle. "Just banged up." He looked up at the gray coated stranger that had saved them. Cyril avoided his gaze, merely shoving his way back through the crowd ignoring the utterly broken young men he had left on the streets to suffer. The Hunter grabbed his groceries and headed home in utter silence. He was breathing hard, his blood boiled and he wanted more victims.

He had to calm down. He had to stop thinking. He needed to…He needed to kill. Cyril made every attempt to reign in the desire for violence. The bane of each and every Hunter, the blood lust would always be there lurking in the back of his mind. And if he chose to listen to that voice? This world would become nothing more than a charnel pit. He would become another beast, a scourge upon the sane and the innocent. Cyril swore to himself that he would not succumb to the same fate as those in Yharnam.

That was his greatest fear.

Cyril locked the door and sat down on his chair, staring at the wall. He would not stir from his home for more than a few hours.

* * *

_The next day..._

Captain Merse Dascaros was fuming. Fuming because some idiot nobles, who had volunteered to join her training company just because they were bored, had decided to go make fools of themselves. Worse. They assaulted one of her trainees while he was on his day off, all because they had to prove their superiority...

At _Sasha Fullmoon's _orphanage no less! What a nightmare!

The one eyed Hero of the Order muttered to herself. The nobles who were responsible got their just desserts...although she was thinking that less and less. Because one of them was said to be in a coma due to a head injury, the lead noble Joachim Brand, was currently in the healer's quarters due to a severely broken jaw and the other two were suffering from broken limbs. Merse did not envy Brand right now because he may never speak again. Or eat solid food but that was their problem. The Brand Family had always been a miserable lot with a streak of cruelty in them, treating the common folk as if they were nothing but dolls.

But it seemed that someone made sure to give them the same treatment, their heir was _traumatized. _Apparently the man responsible for putting the offenders in such a state was described as a foreigner and was living in the slums. A gray coated stranger with a tattered hat, Elt had seen him and apparently the stranger had made several donations to Sasha Fullmoon's orphanage.

Other than that, there were no records of him. He stayed completely isolated in the slums of Lescatie.

Merse scowled as she marched into the slums looking for her favorite trainee. Elton Dragmire, or Elt as he was more formally known, was a hard working recruit but with ambitions of becoming a knight. Merse did not dissuade the youth from his dream but...Things didn't work like that in Lescatie. Not at all. The clergy and nobility had the cards and if you didn't like the way they dealt then it was tough shit.

It was sickening how twisted this country was. Merse sometimes hated her job. She hated the self serving nobility even more. Keeping a handle on her personal weapon, a halberd, Merse approached the orphanage where Elt stayed and let out a sigh. She knocked on the door.

"Oh!"

When the door opened, it was Elt who had a bandage wrapped around his head. "Captain?"

Merse blinked. "I see that you're already up and about." She stated calmly, then grinned. She never really could keep a straight face. Nonetheless, she was worried about Elt.

"Nothing I can't handle, Captain." Elt said softly. "Sasha helped out the most but she told me to take it easy today…I'm sorry."

Merse wasn't about to overrule one of the most decorated veterans in the Order. She was just responsible for training the recruits in the Order Knights after all, if Sasha Fullmoon says you need rest then you need rest. "Is she in?"

Elt answered by letting his captain inside the orphanage.

/

"I am terribly sorry about what happened." Sasha looked outright exhausted.

"You weren't the one beating the crap out of my pupil, General." Merse joked, though that humor went out of the window as she saw Elt limp past, with those two girls hanging around him to make sure he didn't fall down. "Then again, your neighbor seems to be an upstanding fellow...he would be if he hadn't crippled two young men for life."

Sasha sighed. "He frightened Emiyu and Lisia. But I don't think he meant to, he did help Elt out of that situation after all." She set down her cup of tea. "He's...troubled. I saw that when I finally managed to catch up with him."

"He does live in this area. You'd have to be crazy to try and make a living in the slums...no offense of course." Merse said to Sasha.

Sasha rolled her eyes. Still, she seemed worried. "I've never met someone like that, but I think he has been through a lot. I should...I should probably speak with him over what happened, God knows that he may need it...And the Brand Family will not take this insult lightly."

"They won't." Merse said. "But with all the politicking going on around here...They've got their hands full, still...I should probably speak to him too. See what he's made of."

Sasha's brow furrowed. "You mean to recruit him into the Order Knights?" She asked. Merse shrugged.

"Hey, I mean if he's talented. Sure, Brand's heir wouldn't know which end of a sword to hold onto if it was given to him hilt first but still...Elt says he's not just fast but strong so I should still check it out."

Merse stood up. "Right now." She said with a grin. Sasha just sighed and followed along with the Captain's plan, although something told her that Merse's recruitment strategy was not going to work on the man named Cyril Sutherland.

/

Cyril heard the knocking and blinked irritably. Again, the book he was reading the Monster Girl Encyclopedia was on the floor. The Hunter rubbed his eyes, groaning in irritation but at the same time he felt relieved that his sleep was undisturbed. He sat on his cot, listening to the knocking get more frequent.

Alright then.

He made sure to take his time, pulling on his coat and buttoning it as he looked at his reflection in the broken mirror. He walked over and rearranged his living area before he finally made it to the door. He checked his boots, then took a deep breath and opened the door.

There was a scowling woman there, peeved that he took so long to open the door. She had gray hair that was tied up at the back. Her outfit was sensible, if a bit revealing and she had a rather muscular physique. One eye was covered by a patch and judging from the faint scars he could see, Cyril could tell that the wound was an old one. He just quirked a brow and asked.

"Yes?"

/

Merse glared at him.

"It's rude not to open the door when someone knocks, you know." She told him.

The man hardly reacted to her chiding tone, instead blinking very slowly. His eyes were empty, and he hardly made an expression. This was Sasha's neighbor? He didn't seem to threatening now that she had seen him in the flesh.

"So why should I bother if you're coming up here armed?" The man asked her in return, nudging his head at the halberd in Merse's hands. "Are you a brigand here to steal whatever belongings I have in my home? Are you going to kill me if I resist?"

"Brigand? Hey buddy, I'm a Captain of the Order Knights." Merse said, hackles raised. "So you should probably watch your tone."

The man exhaled through his nose as his eyes narrowed, looking over Merse's shoulder.

"Merse!" Sasha Fullmoon caught up to her erstwhile companion. "Why didn't you tell me you were headed here already-Ah!"

Sasha bowed. "Good afternoon Master Cyril." She said softly seeing the expression of annoyance on Cyril's face. The man exhaled again.

"Good afternoon to you as well, Miss Sasha. Do you know this heavily armed woman that was banging on my door?" He gestured to Merse nonchalantly, as if she was not his concern. Merse frowned at him, why was he more polite with Sasha?

"She's Merse Dascaros, a colleague in the Order." Sasha answered. "She may be...crass but she has a good heart. We both had wished to speak to you."

"I see." Cyril looked back inside and sighed. "Would you both like to come in then?"

The house was sparsely furnished. Merse looked around curiously as she sat down on the small wooden crate Cyril had taken out as an extra chair. He allowed Sasha to have the sole wooden chair that he had while he fixed up some tea. At least it was clean, Merse mused as she looked around. The living area was hardly impressive, for a man with considerable martial experience like Cyril however it was more than enough.

The man had called himself a Hunter when Merse had asked what exactly he did for a living, although Cyril had said that he had wished to retire, he often did odd jobs as a caravan guard during his travels until he ended up staying in Lescatie.

"Ah, so you were a mercenary then." Merse nodded. "It's not a bad life, but it is a harsh one in these times."

Cyril shrugged. "You could say that but it was not my intention to be one." He said to her. His monotone voice made Merse a bit nervous. The way he walked was also different, slouched and yet at the same time it seemed to her that Cyril the Hunter _prowled _in his home. Furthermore, she sensed...no mana at all coming from the man.

Heroes differed in their ability to sense mana, Sasha was extremely good at it. So good that even their resident Magical Girl, Mimil Miltie, was impressed. Merse glanced at Sasha who gave her a cautious glance. Their new acquaintance was a complete void, he had no mana which was utterly terrifying. How can someone have no mana? It permeated the world according to the sorcerers up at Magitec.

Merse knew Mimil would have been curious to meet this mana-less wonder. But at the same time she dreaded it, she dreaded being in the same room as this cold stranger who had now set the teapot on a larger crate that sat in the middle of them. Merse half expected the man to slam the tea pot into Sasha's face to start a fight but instead Cyril went to grab some silverware and tea cups from a small cupboard.

Merse knew why she was feeling so much dread. There was an undercurrent in the room, some kind of pressure that emanated from Mister Cyril the Hunter, an aura that set off the body's instinct to run for the hills.

"Ah, thank you." Sasha took the tea and the saucer. She sipped appreciatively. "Um...I would like to say thank you for helping Elt...I know-I know it wasn't your intention to scare the two girls with him but..."

Cyril stayed quiet, staring into the fire. He blinked and looked at Sasha. The priestess felt nothing in that gaze before the Hunter answered.

"I...It was not my intention to scare the children either." He said softly. "Forgive me, my...humors were out of balance yesterday I may have been a bit out of sorts."

Sasha frowned. "Do you have trouble sleeping, Master Cyril?" She asked.

"I have nightmares. What of it?" Cyril stated. He then breathed in and out, calming himself down. "I apologize. Yes I do have nightmares."

Sasha merely pushed the thought of his rudeness aside. "Perhaps you should rest from your job as a caravan guard for a little bit. You may be stressed out, Master Cyril and it would do no one good if you collapse from exhaustion."

Cyril blinked at her slowly. Merse felt her fist clench slightly. It was like a predator was watching for the right time to strike.

"I thank you for the advice, Miss Sasha." He said softly. "Perhaps I shall have to find some recreation in the City."

Sasha smiled gently. "That is all I ask, Master Cyril. And if you do need anything, please, do not hesitate to come by the orphanage to talk. My door is always open."

* * *

It was nighttime by the time Sasha and Merse left the Hunter to his business.

"Well...that was..." Merse started as Sasha looked back at the house, her face pale.

"That man had no mana, but you sensed it right?" Sasha spoke seriously this time. Her eyes were locked onto the Hunter's humble home.

All signs of brevity left Merse's body as she nodded. "The man was a literal void, yes." She told Sasha. "But he's dangerous. _Really _dangerous. He makes a high ranking monster look tame, the room was suffocating."

"Indeed." Sasha whispered. "He has not been hostile. I would like to keep an eye on him..."

"Are we going to tell the higher ups?" Merse asked. "I was asked to report anything suspicious and this guy is ringing bells that shouldn't be ringing in my head right now."

"Don't." Sasha said. "That might force him to do something drastic that would end in tears for everyone involved. Perhaps...he could be persuaded to join your training platoon? He is a seasoned warrior after all, maybe he could also learn some new tricks."

Merse shrugged.

Sasha giggled. "I'll try to get him to visit, he did help Elt after all and maybe he could teach him how to fight more effectively."

"Ah...that sounds like an idea." Merse said, smirking. "All right. I'll give it a try."

* * *

_Later that night..._

"Ah, Natsume good to- Natsume?"

Fina flinched in surprise as her friend, suddenly wrapped her arms around her and hugged her tight. "N-Natsume!?" The Kunoichi was sobbing in relief.

The Dhampir looked around. She was but one of the many agents who could operate fully because of her heritage...The raven haired beauty quickly pulled the hysterical Kunoichi into the woods. Shushing the older woman gently, Fina loosened her sword in its sheath as they finally found a private place to talk.

"Natsume, what happened?" Fina asked. "You were supposed to report in a few days ago!"

"I..." Natsume whispered. Fina held both her hands. "I…met someone."

"You...You did?" Fina asked, feeling confused. Sure, it was nice for a monster to meet the man of her dreams but they had a mission to complete for Captain Ursula. The Dhampir held Natsume's shoulders.

"Why...Why are you crying then?"

Natsume was scaring her especially now when the Kunoichi looked her in the eyes, so utterly horrified that she was close to breaking. So close. Fina's own blue orbs were wide with distress. "Natsume, you have to tell me what happened."

"He tried to kill me." Natsume said softly.

"Who? You...You went after an Order boy didn't you?"

"No!" Natsume whispered harshly. "He wasn't...He wasn't with the Order. No. No, he's worse. Far worse..."

"Natsume..." Fina said quietly. "What happened to you?"

"I saw...I saw what was behind his mask. I saw...horrible, horrible things. He was worse." Natsume told her. "He was worse. And he'll kill me if he ever saw me again." She started sobbing again.

Fina didn't know what to do, but one thing was certain. Someone knew that there were agents operating in Lescatie. Their cover would be blown if that certain someone spoke. Fina decided then and there that she had to alert the Captain, everyone was in danger.

"Come on, Natsume." Fina said. "Let's go back to camp."


	3. Chapter 3

3

Under pain of death

Cyril hammered the last shingle into place then looked down to make sure no one was below him. While he had finished with the orphanage's roof that did not mean that he could afford to be careless, children were extraordinarily fragile after all and the Hunter knew his current employer would be most displeased if he had managed to drop a tool on some poor child's head.

The Hunter finished his task, put away his tools and approached the ladder, sliding down with nary a noise. His boots hit the grass below, startling the young brown haired girl who had been approaching.

"W-Whoa! Th-That was cool Mister Hunter!"

Cyril blinked and then turned around to see the young girl, Lisia if he recalled correctly, staring in unabashed awe at his skilled maneuver of going down a ladder. Cyril shrugged. "I am finished with repairing your roof but it is a temporary patch." He said softly. "You might want to hire a builder in the coming months." Cyril put his hat back on and pulled the cloth bandanna up over his mouth, causing Lisia to shrink back at the sight of him.

The Hunter shrugged again. He had volunteered to affect repairs to Miss Sasha's roof for free, despite the former's protests that he had to accept payment after the job was done but Cyril had firmly denied it. He owed Sasha for frightening the orphans under her care, and this was an easy way to deal with what had happened. Besides, she _did _say that he had to take it easy for a few days. Repairing a roof may have been a task that didn't seem like taking it easy but Cyril found comfort in such monotonous tasks such as sweeping, repairing a roof...He didn't know why but it calmed him down to be actually doing physical labor.

"You won't be staying?" Lisia asked. "Big Sister wanted to invite you over for dinner..."

Cyril didn't answer for a while. "I see." He said. "Well I guess I can stay for a little while." The smile on Lisia's face made him feel...uncomfortable. He did not like to be around people, children even less, all because of the Night of the Hunt. They reminded him too much of the suffering of that time.

He wanted no memories of that night, but he was resigned to remembering them all. If that was his burden, to bear the memories of dying Yharnam to his grave then so be it. He would remember the good folk that he had tried to rescue and strove to do good in their name, this act would not absolve him of the terrible crimes he had committed that one fateful night and neither would it lift the heavy burdens from his shoulders but he hoped it would be enough to atone.

A small ease to his burdens, that was all he asked for.

/

Sasha Fullmoon observed Master Cyril in his interactions with all the curious children surrounding him as he ate. He answered their constant questions with the calm patience of a man long inured to such things. Dare she say it but she could have sworn she had seen him smile a little when pressed by Lisia and Emiyu, the two of them having soon latched onto Cyril. Perhaps it was because he had helped their Big Brother Elt or maybe the Hunter had a soft spot for children?

She did not know but Cyril seemed to be getting better. He looked less tired, maybe he had taken her advice?

Sasha sighed and shook her head tiredly, a gesture that Cyril seemed to have noticed because his eyes narrowed albeit slightly in her direction. She raised a hand and waved...awkwardly, even as the Hunter's eyes flashed with disapproval. So he noticed too...but what could she do?

Ever since that terrible day, she doubted herself and everything she believed in. Man and Monster were enemies, the Order taught her that but why was it that whenever the crusades succeeded all she saw in the faces of the monsters was grief? She was supposed to make everyone smile and yet every victorious mission she led in the name of the Chief God always showed her nothing but grief.

Doubt made her want to atone. Atonement, her goal, made her raise not just one orphanage but two...one with human children who lost their parents in the Order's relentless march to save humankind and one with monster children, those who also lost their parents in the same war. It was taking a toll on her but she could not reveal anything to Elt or any of her colleagues under pain of death.

She again glanced at Cyril. Would he sell her out? He didn't seem fond of the Order, from the way he avoided anything that involved joining the knights. Merse had been persistent but even she had doubts as to how to best secure the Hunter's loyalty. The man was a mercenary through and through.

"Cyril...If you could mind coming with me? I...I have something to discuss with you."

The words were out of her mouth before she could reign them in.

Cyril blinked, but he nodded politely in her direction.

The Hunter followed the Priestess silently as they walked down a path through the woods. Cyril didn't expect an attack but he still kept an eye out for anything untoward. Sasha may have been a veteran hero but he had seen how pale and drawn she was, she was also stumbling slightly. More than once, Cyril had to steer her straight lest she blunder into a tree, such was her fatigue that it was making him feel concerned.

Cyril looked around however. It was a clear, moonlit night, but the silence was what made him cautious. He felt the familiar weight of his Saw Cleaver on his back in open hostility. His holster was unbuckled and his pistol was ready to draw at a moment's notice. Like Sasha, he too had a small hand lantern to light their way.

"I am sorry for my silence, Master Cyril but this is a secret I am hesitant to trust to others." Sasha said.

"Even to your friend, Elt was it?" Cyril asked in return. The silence told him everything. He felt like he was stepping into something serious, something that he would regret knowing. Cyril was no craven, he'd make his decision when they got to the end of this path...wherever it may lead.

"Even to him. I have not known you long, Master Cyril but I have a feeling that I can trust you to keep your silence in this matter." Sasha spoke after a long pause, sounding really tired. The Hunter's eyes narrowed. He secretly drew his pistol. Something in the Priestess's tone made him even more cautious than before.

The path led to a small building, this one was more of a cottage more than anything. Cyril didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he knew that being complacent was more lethal than a blade or gun. The Hunter let Sasha open the door. He stopped in the doorway.

"Um...Big Sister?"

Cyril was looking right into the bright blue eyes of a child with fox ears. The Hunter blinked and shook his head. He then turned his gaze to meet Sasha, who looked away guilty. He honestly was very surprised, Sasha had always been loyal to the Order and yet here she was raising the orphans of the very crusades she led against the monsters. The Hunter closed his eyes and straightened his posture, his gaze was then very cold.

"What is this." He said to the priestess. "What is going on, Sasha?"

"This is my secret sin." Sasha told him softly.

"Big sister?" The fox child asked, and Sasha hushed her and pushed her back suddenly as Cyril raised his pistol...and promptly holstered it. His gaze was still locked onto the rather surprised Sasha.

"You can start by explaining what you plan to do with these children." He told her. "And what this plan has to do with me. And for your sake, this better be good."

/

The inside of the cottage was far more roomier since the monster children were less in number than the humans. Cyril hung his own hand lantern on an alcove and Sasha lit more candles. The fox child was but one of many monster children. Cyril saw a Salamander, this one older than the other kids and carrying a wooden sword. Odd, considering the trails of fire that often sprung to life in her claws and her tail. There was another girl with the horns of a sheep struggling to keep awake. The poor girl nearly tumbled onto her twin, which startled them both briefly before they suddenly began to drowse. Again. Both were Weresheep if Cyril remembered from the guide correctly. Another girl had squeaked when his gaze met hers. She fluttered briefly away with her wings, into the shadows but there was a loud thunk and a squeak of pain.

A Harpy. This one must be trouble to keep track of.

The Hunter crossed his arms, feeling the gaze of the Salamander on his form.

"I...don't plan on hurting any of them." Sasha said quietly but firmly. "My actions may not have directly caused the deaths of these little ones' parents but it is my atonement to take care of them."

"Hence why you look ready to keel over." Cyril pointed out. Sasha was swaying on her feet. The Hunter gestured for the Salamander's help, the young girl quickly grabbing a chair for Sasha to sit down in. Cyril helped the priestess sit down before she fell. "And why you cannot ask for help, the Order would sooner kill these children than let them live."

He sighed. "Why did you involve me in this?" He asked her. This was clearly not something he wanted to know but he made the decision to get involved. Cyril cursed himself. Sasha had asked for his help, he was well within his right to refuse but this secret would be known to more people now.

"You can walk away if you wish." Sasha said. "But I implore you, Master Cyril. Keep this secret, I do not want more innocent blood on my hands."

"Blood will stain your hands no matter what you do." Cyril answered, harsher than what he intended. He was frustrated with the situation as it is. Sasha flinched at his words. "These children will be found out, and they will die by Order blades. And because you informed me of their existence my fate will be tied to yours in return."

"I still trust you to do the right thing, Master Cyril." Sasha told him. "I know that you are still a good man. Even if you do not show it."

"So you say." Cyril answered. "But this is still something I should not have been involved in." His tone was razor sharp, laced with a growing impatience that Sasha noticed with growing alarm. The Salamander child swallowed the lump in her throat.

Sasha Fullmoon realized with no degree of uncertainty that Cyril Sutherland was more than capable of ending not only her life but those of the children in this very cottage. His shadow seemed to darken the room they were all in, such was its darkness that the moon itself refused to give its light.

And then, Cyril exhaled and regarded Sasha with tired eyes. "You will owe me for this." He stated quietly and left without another word.

Sasha let out the breath she had been holding and squeezed the Salamander child tightly. She would not be sleeping for quite a while it seemed.

* * *

_A few days later…_

The merchant caravan he was escorting through the grasslands was moving at a clipped pace but Cyril wasn't paying attention to that. The Hunter sat beside the lead wagon driver, pistol in hand. The older man beside him didn't bother to ask any questions because the look on Cyril's face was outright murderous.

Cyril kept an eye out, his temper barely kept in check. That night was a mistake he should not have made, and Sasha should have known better than to involve him in whatever scheme she was up to. He should have left her to whatever fate was in store for her. Instead, he now had to carry a damning secret that could jeopardize not only her life but his as well, and even if the Order had no realistic way of putting him down he would still have to avoid them at all cost.

If that was going to happen then he might as well leave this continent. Zipangu was starting to look like an ideal option...even if there were also monsters there, at least a lot of them were reasonable.

The Hunter checked his handgun again. The grasslands around Lescatie were remotely secure, and often times the only monster encounters were the roving bands of Centaurs, reasonable monsters that were half women half horse, and even then they were rare in Lescatie.

The Hunter blinked as the wagon stopped. Someone shouted that the rear wagon was having trouble with one of its wheels. Cyril was annoyed even more, wonderful now they were stuck here for a few more hours. Even if Lescatie was safer than most kingdoms, nobody wanted to be away from the city walls at night. It was a sentiment that Cyril agreed with and not because of the roving mamono. The Hunter got off the wagon to walk around, bringing up his Saw Cleaver in his right hand. Cyril began to walk around while the wagon driver and the merchant checked up on their goods, an assortment that Cyril did not care to find out about.

There was a nagging feeling in the back of his head that something else was wrong. Cyril looked back at the caravan to observe the guards. Men and women were in attendance and this band numbered around ten. He looked at the black haired young woman with the sword and buckler. She wore a white tunic and brown leggings underneath a leather chest plate, looking more like a traveler than a warrior. He never met her personally and had never seen her before in the Adventurer's Guild but something about her was making him feel uneasy. She was apparently a newbie though, that was certain.

As if noticing his glance, the girl waved at him awkwardly. Cyril's eyes narrowed and he continued on his patrol looking for signs of trouble. He had more important issues to worry about. The Hunter moved back into his routine.

/

_Demon Army, 4th Company Campsite, Lescatie..._

"Doctor."

"Captain."

Ursula looked her healer right in the eye. The vampire, Seras Mariana Brusilov, had lived on this earth for more than four hundred years. Two of those centuries were spent under the tutelage of Doctor Greilia Little, Mistress of the Greilia Sabbath of Pharmacomancy. The other two were spent under the tutelage of Ursula's great aunt, Duchess Aria Gremory, swordmaster captain of the Red Guard who were responsible for guarding her mother's life. In a sense, Seras was capable of healing someone who was supposed to be dead...and more often than not was seen in the presence of several dead bodies in the defense of patients under her care. She had a deep seated hatred for the Order's Inquisition who were fanatics to the extreme.

Dressed in the white coat and robes of a healer, Seras was a slim vampire with a no nonsense attitude and less patience for those who got in the way of her healing. Hence why few were willing to risk her wrath, lest they wake up in a cot themselves. Blonde, blue eyed with a beautiful heart shaped face and an equally scary scowl, Seras was no softy.

"What brings you here, Captain?" Seras asked Ursula, her voice quiet. "As you can see I just finished doing inventory and taking care of one of our agents. The Fourth Princess was also waiting for your report."

"I wanted to see how Miss Murasaki is doing." Ursula stated calmly. "If that is appropriate, Doctor?"

Seras exhaled through her nose. "I do not want you troubling her any further. You have ten minutes." She brusquely turned away from the Demon, who smiled. Seras was always brusque when it involved her patients...which was why she was such an effective healer.

Ursula followed Seras to the sole occupied cot. The healer's tent was empty for now, but that would change when the invasion of Lescatie began. Already, monsters from the wilder areas of the kingdom were encroaching on Lescatie waylaying the garrisons located throughout the kingdom.

Druella's army was headed straight for the city itself. The 4th Company was responsible for scouting out the city's defenses. The 1st, 2nd and 3rd were on the move with the Fourth Born and her retinue. Ursula was not apprehensive, normally for what Demon ever was? But as she approached the forlorn Kunoichi who lay in her cot her smile curdled.

Seras approached the cot carefully. "Natsume?" She whispered. "My dear, are you awake? Captain Ursula wants to talk to you."

Natsume the Kunoichi blinked and looked around blearily. "I...I had another nightmare." She told Seras.

"I know." Seras gently patted Natsume's head. "I'm sorry for what you had to go through, child. It's a good thing that Fina was here to look after you."

Ursula winced as she heard the recrimination in Seras' tone. Sending Fina out to replace Natsume _did not _sit well with the vampire at all. True, a Vampire would normally be inferior to a Demon such as she but Seras was one of the best swordsmen in the company. She shook her head and put a more gentle expression on her face as Seras allowed Ursula to step towards her. Ursula sat down on the cot, putting a hand on Natsume's thigh, a touching gesture from such a fierce warrior such as she.

"Hello, Natsume-san." She said softly. "You know why I came here to talk to you."

"...That man will kill me." Natsume whispered. "If I tell you anything, he'll kill me. He'll know because you'll send people after him." She started to shake.

"If this man is dangerous, then he must be neutralized Natsume-san." Ursula said to her. "I won't let anything happen to you. Or Fina. On my honor as the Captain of this company, you will be protected if he retaliates."

Natsume didn't say a word at all. Ursula frowned and looked at Seras who crossed her arms and stared right back at her sternly.

"You'll know him, if you see him. He has no mana and yet..." Natsume said blandly. "He's...terrifying. I just wish..." She shook harder. "Oh gods...Fina...Fina, I'm sorry. I should have been the one. Please be careful Fina, he'll find out who you are...He'll kill you too."

She sobbed into her hands inconsolably.

Seras put a hand on a surprised Ursula's shoulder. "Okay, your ten minutes is up." She snapped then turned to a Kikimora that had just entered the tent. "Bennia, get your ass in here with a damned sedative!"

Shaken, more than what she wanted to admit, Ursula left the healer's tent.

/

"And you are certain that this man is a danger to our operations? Forgive me madame, but he is just one human male. Perhaps the Kunoichi is shaken by something else?"

Demeter's tone brokered no argument, but she was skeptical about what Ursula had told her. The Dullahan walked with Ursula as they made their rounds.

"I have considered that point but Natsume speaks the truth." Ursula told her subordinate. "I was there in the tent with her and that Kunoichi is horrified. That plus there was indeed something different about this human male." She regarded the Dullahan with seriousness. "The man has no mana. At all."

"You mean to say that he is dead?" Demeter asked, looking incredulous. "The only way someone could have no mana is if they were dead, my Captain." The Dullahan frowned. "Still, if this one is as dangerous as you say then perhaps we should approach with caution."

"He is not working for the Order however." Ursula mused. "Still...to track down a Kunoichi and best her in combat is not something any ordinary warrior can do. Even a Hero would be hard pressed to do so."

"A Hero with no affiliation with a god?" Demeter was surprised. "Or is he someone who has broken the limit of his physical form?"

"Both are possible." Ursula said suddenly smiling. "Which makes me excited. What if he is worthy prey?"

"Then I wish you all the best, milady." Demeter said, knowing full well of the Demon's wants and needs. She was prideful, that much was certain. Demeter just hoped that Ursula, the woman she had chosen to follow, would not allow that pride to be her downfall in the coming invasion.

* * *

Cyril panted. It had started raining and worse, there was a pack of monsters that had managed to ambush them in the night. He threw the cowering merchant aside as he blocked a claw strike from one of them. The Werewolf snarled before being silenced as Cyril's Saw Cleaver crunched through bone and brain. The Hunter bashed the corpse aside with his off hand as cries of alarm echoed throughout the merchant camp.

What a disaster. At least one of the guards was a competent mage and had sent out a magic flare that lit up the area. Cyril heard the shriek before he saw the charging orc come in. The Hunter kicked the thing in the stomach and cut it down all the same. The Hunter stayed silent as he swung his weapon to the side, extending it into a long bladed cleaver. He stood his ground as more monsters came at him.

Cyril beheaded another werewolf even as the monsters pressed into the group of guards. Already Cyril had seen a pair of men get dragged away by victorious monster girls. Cyril didn't even bother trying to shoot at them, it would have been a mercy but he had his orders. The Hunter struck down another monster, blood staining his blade.

Another orc tried to scream before her head was chopped off. A werewolf held her stomach, howling and screaming in pain before Cyril's pistol ended her life with a loud roar. No, not a roar it was more of a bark. The roar was coming from the Hunter's throat, an incoherent stream of rage.

Another beast had clawed onto Cyril's back and the Hunter shrugged her off and beat her to death with the butt of his pistol. He swung his Saw Cleaver back, beheading another monster in a spray of blood and water. He killed. And killed. And killed.

He didn't stop until the space around him was clear and he was surrounded by slain beasts, all in a state of dismemberment. Such was the slaughter that the merchant he had been defending had passed out from the utter bloodshed the Hunter had visited upon his foes. The surviving men and women of the caravan guards were murmuring, some were in awe yet more were cautious and even afraid of the fell handed Hunter that slaughtered fifty monsters in a matter of moments.

Cyril exhaled as he looked around, his eyes dilated. He was still looking for targets, for prey to kill. He wasn't in Lescatie anymore, everything and everyone he saw had blended into the nightmarish tableau that was Yharnam during the Night of the Hunt. And the mamono he had cut down had taken the shape of the nightmarish beasts that he had slain-

"Hey!"

The Hunter had to stop himself from swinging his weapon as he spun around to see the leader of the caravan guards, a tall man with an axe in hand. He grinned at Cyril who did not return the gesture. He just...stared.

"Nice job out there, friend. We probably wouldn't have made it if it weren't for you."

Cyril said nothing. He swung his weapon down to fold it back into the compact saw form and stood there, eyes blank. It was still raining. He panted heavily as the guard captain watched him closely, he reached out. "Hey are you-"

"**Do not touch me.**" Cyril growled. His voice was hoarse. The captain gulped and stepped back at the Hunter's stern gaze from beneath his tattered tricorne hat. The caravan, what was left of it, eventually gathered up whatever and whoever could be salvaged and headed to Lescatie as quick as possible.

Cyril didn't linger too long. The moment they were allowed into the city, the Hunter disappeared from the adventurer's guild and headed home as quickly as possible to avoid pointed questions. It was still raining by the time he got home.

Closing his door, Cyril tossed his Saw Cleaver into the corner. Blood flickered out and stained the floor. The Hunter removed his hat with trembling hands as he sat down on his chair. It was still dark so he lit his hand lantern and set it on his table. The dim light chased away some of the shadows but it was still dark inside.

He...He was going to have to fix that. Slowly Cyril stood up, still soaking from the rain. The Hunter made several attempts but it was worth it in the end because he now had a fire going. He dressed into his extra clothes; the tattered vest, shirt and trousers were clean at least. Cyril kept his hood off and instead sat down in front of the fire while getting some tea started. Calm, he needed calm. That was the worst fight he had ever been in. He had never lost control like that and it shamed him to even think back about that fight.

He had become a beast. Even briefly, the surge of frightening strength...it scared him to go back to that. The Hunter shook his head as he tried to calm down, listening to the sound of rain coming down in sheets. It was going to be a cold, cold night and if he couldn't sleep-

The crack of thunder startled him, causing him to reach for a weapon. He sighed and grabbed his lantern, going to retrieve his Saw Cleaver to c lean it off and give it a good sharpening. He sat down in front of the fire again and unfolded his Saw Cleaver. He reached for his whetstone. The sound of steel being sharpened echoed throughout his humble home.

* * *

_The next day..._

Fina moved through the brush, hood up. While Dhampir had superior physical abilities compared to normal humans, she did not let herself become too overconfident. Especially now, ever since she witnessed their person of interest in a fight.

The Dhampir was shaken but she kept her cool. She had never seen someone move so fast. The 'Hunter' as he had called himself back when she had first caught sight of him in the Adventurer's Guild was a mystery man of great interest to Captain Ursula.

She was right, the man had no mana but that apparently didn't matter. Because he was more than capable of killing monsters with ease. Heroes were dangerous to the average monster but the way this man slaughtered his way through the monster packs…

Fina shuddered as she looked back at the foreboding walls of Lescatie, as if focusing her thoughts on the Hunter would summon him...and surely that would be the end of her life because he was inimical to Mamono. Fina had her own reasons for reporting back to camp so soon as well. She wanted to check on Natsume, because Seras had told her that she was getting worse. She had been having more recurring nightmares, thus making it hard for her to sleep during the night. She also kept asking for offerings because she said that she was going to die soon.

Fina bit back a sob as she wiped her eyes. It wasn't fair. Natsume didn't deserve whatever insanity had befallen her.

The Dhampir eventually made it to the point where her magic stone would not be detected by any magic leaning heroes. Fina took it out of her cloak and held it up. A dark shadow engulfed her and soon, she had disappeared from the forests surrounding Lescatie.

In a few seconds she would reappear in the 4th Company campsite.

/

Fina stepped out of the portal and looked around. The guards stationed around the camp readied their weapons but paused as she waved at them and removed her hood. The sergeant in charge of patrols gave her a smile and let her in. Fina returned the gesture and walked into camp, which was busy. She saw soldiers getting geared for a fight, a rarity in the Demon Lord's armies since discipline was usually lax but Captain Ursula had trained her soldiers to be the best they could. Sure they all wanted a man for themselves but Ursula made it clear that they had to work first before the fun began. Perhaps that was why her soldiers were quite lustful when the battle was over.

Fina...just wanted to come back alive. The Dhampir made her way to the healer's tent to report to Seras, her tutor and foster mother.

She found Seras sitting down, checking on a catatonic Natsume who was holding a piece of paper in her hand, paper that Seras had plucked out. The vampire turned to see Fina just watching with wide, worried eyes.

"I had to sedate her." Seras said simply as Fina approached. "I'm so sorry, my dear. I'm going to have to send her back with her comrades when I get the chance."

Fina just sat down on Natsume's cot, placing a cool hand on Natsume's cheek. It wasn't fair for Natsume, who had just graduated to becoming a full fledged Shinobi, one hoping to find a man to call her own. Fina wanted to know what exactly she had seen. Seras straightened out the piece of paper she had managed to get from Natsume. She walked away a bit as she placed the piece of paper on a table.

She had given Natsume something to do, just some sketching since she mentioned that she had like drawing back when she was a girl. Seras blinked as she examined the sketch. It was that of a man, shrouded in a gray coat. He faced backwards, the tails of his coat billowing in a breeze. Natsume had even drawn the moon above his head. It wasn't a romantic picture at all. Seras found it downright disturbing because the man had weapons in each hand, the one in the right in particular looked like a madman's cross between a saw and a cleaver.

The symbol drawn over the moon was concerning. It...was a dangling rune, like a fork. It made her head hurt to look at it. It...looked like it was squirming. Seras blinked and the rune in the picture stilled. The Vampire swore under her breath.

"Fina, keep an eye on Natsume will you?" Seras said.

"Yes ma'am." Fina answered.

The vampire exited the tent and went to find a messenger. She was going to have to ask for a Sabbath's help.

She wondered if the White Goat or the Sleepy Magical Archive had any ideas on who this man was. Seras shivered as a chill went up her spine, and decided to start thinking about the questions she was going to ask the two.

Somehow, she knew this was going to be a bad idea.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Howl

He heard the knocking.

Dimly, Cyril rose up from his bed and muttered to himself. It had been a long, long night but his dreams were disturbed. He dreamed of Arianna again and Sister Adella. The Hunter shook his head as the knocking got more insistent. He pulled his coat on and drew his pistol. Hiding it behind his back, Cyril opened the door a crack. He found Sasha outside of his door. Again. Even after all that he had said, she still made it a chore to get through the day.

The Hunter sighed in disgust at the sight of her and made to close the door. He was done. He was not going to deal with this today-

"Wait, please!"

Sasha pushed the door open and Cyril considered, briefly, using even more considerable strength to push it closed. "I just wanted to apologize." She said softly. "Please, if I could come in?"

The Hunter stared at her as if she had grown two heads. Then, with great reluctance, he let her inside. Sasha walked in quickly. Cyril closed the door, holstered his pistol and asked.

"What is it? I already told you I was going to keep your little secret." He said softly. "So why are you here? Why are you making things more difficult for me?"

Sasha lowered her head. She looked extremely pale, and tired. That was not his concern, whether she fell down exhausted or someone told her to rest was a job for someone else. He had bigger concerns, especially since rumors of his actions with the job from the other night had begun to circulate. Where he killed fifty monsters in a single night. Many folks claimed that he did so alone, a human conceit. But it was understandable, he must have made such a spectacle that night. He kept those bitter musings to himself.

"...There were...things...I heard what happened to you. You were attacked by monsters." Sasha said. "Are you-"

Cyril reached up and massaged his temple slowly with one hand, eyes blank as he seemed to nearly explode. He was really not looking forward to this round of conversation. His expression must have been utterly terrifying because Sasha had swallowed loudly. Cyril exhaled, counting to ten. Slowly. He was close to punching something. Or someone and he was not about to do that.

Although he was sorely tempted to do so, instead he schooled his expression into a more blank mask.

"I'm fine. I'm still alive aren't I?" He asked in return. The Hunter shook his head. "But that's not really what you wanted to hear did you?"

"I'm sorry, but...You did agree to keep silent so...I just wanted to be sure that you were okay..."

Cyril shook his head, a little less irritated. "I'm fine." He repeated. "And like I said before, you should leave, it'll make things harder for you if you are seen with me."

"Regardless, I am...glad to see that you're okay." Sasha said feeling more comfortable. "People talk."

Cyril smiled under his bandanna. "So what are people saying?" He asked, bitterly. "Am I a monster yet?"

"It's that...and..." Sasha looked away shamefaced. Cyril did not understand why, she was not the one spreading rumors and he knew she was a good woman regardless of the stunt she pulled with him that one night. "Other people are interested, I've been listening to old colleagues in the Order whenever I've been invited to speak with them. They think you're some sort of blessed individual."

"Blessed individual?" Cyril laughed, a deep growl that caused the hairs on the back of Sasha's neck to stand up. It was like hearing a wolf growling in your ear. "Now that is a joke I have never heard before. People think that I am a hero, or at least this land's version of a hero from what I can tell." He sat down in front of Sasha. "What else happened?"

"I was told that individuals wished to speak to you about your...experience against monsters." Sasha said softly. "I know you just wish to be left alone, but I just came to warn you."

"Who's first?" Cyril asked. "Friend or foe?"

"Probably members of the knights. Not Merse though." Sasha said, wondering why he thought in such black and white terms. "A pair of them, and I do not know when they will come here. It is the Inquisition I am more concerned about. I cannot protect you from them."

"Neither will I ask you to." Cyril's answer was telling. "It seems that I have overstayed my welcome in Lescatie if there is such an organization with good intentions like the Inquisition after me for doing what I have to do."

Sasha deflated. She felt guilty that Cyril had been through quite a bit while all she had to worry about was losing sleep and raising orphans. She was not here to compare her suffering to another person's. "Regardless of what you do, I must ask you not to resist any questioning." She said to him. "I cannot stop them from questioning you, but please try to show some semblance of cooperating with the agents of the Inquisition."

Cyril sighed. She was concerned if she was telling him this. Then again, while he had never met an Inquisitor before he knew they operated with nothing but zealotry. Beasts of their own type. Cyril had no opinion of the Order, as every group had its good and bad. The Hunter had nothing but distrust and utter contempt for those who claimed to act in the good of all humanity.

The Healing Church had said the same thing...and a curious person would only need to look at what had happened to the Mad City of Yharnam to know the truth to such an organization's goals. Cyril would take Sasha's advice but if they believed that he would bow to their wishes and share his secrets then they had another thing coming.

It seemed that things had escalated, and he was stuck in another bad situation. He looked outside his window at the sunny day, he saw no clouds and if he listened closely he could hear the chirping of birds nearby. It was as if the Gods of this realm were insulting him and everything he had gone through.

"A-Are you okay?"

Cyril heard Sasha's voice and realized that he had been staring outside the window, fist clenched and eyes narrowed. And it had been quite a while, enough for her to ask the same question a few times. His features still hardened he looked Sasha right in the eye.

"No." He said coldly. "Not at all."

/

The Hunter's day was as boring as it could get except for one caveat. People talked and many were now aware of him, so he chose to keep wearing the clothes he had on when he had first entered Yharnam. The hood, in particular, made it easier to blend in with the crowd. Cyril kept his eyes forward, hauling his supplies with him in a heavy sack.

Irritably, he avoided the main road. He took a meandering route through the side streets towards the slums. His first encounter with a mugger ended pretty poorly for the mugger, having snapped the man's neck with no remorse. The rest of his friends must have spread the word because he had been left alone for several months and now only the foolish or the arrogant still tried to challenge him in the streets. A rare occurrence, even now in the rising tumult that was engulfing the city as rumors of a major attack began to spread amongst the commoners.

Cyril stopped a few feet away from his house when he saw them. A pair of knights, both wearing partial plate over revealing outfits. Cyril's eyes narrowed at the young boy walking around with them. A mage perhaps? Did they intend to track him down through arcane means? Cyril was no magician, but he did have some Hunter tools that required some knowledge of sorcery. He cursed himself. They might go into the house by breaking into it to look for any sign of him. He looked at his belt at the holstered pistol he had. He had left the Saw Cleaver at home in order to keep attention away, and thus he was more lightly armed than he should have been.

A foolish decision but he was going to make do. The Hunter drew his pistol, leaving his bag of supplies in an empty barrel. He pulled his hood down and disappeared into the shadows.

He was not about to let them get away with anything related to Yharnam. Simple as that.

/

"What did you sense Eba?"

The young apprentice closed his book as he looked up into the carefree visage of the knight, Lady Lucian Sausre. The blonde smirked idly as Eba shook his head.

"N-Nothing good." Eba said. The effeminate boy held his book tight to his chest as he stared at the shabby house that belonged to the Person of Interest, as dictated by Lord William Noscrim. Heroes were Heroes and they all needed to be under Lescatie's control. Eba looked frightened by the prospect of meeting this one.

"Well, that's reassuring." Lucian said, her voice bright and cheerful as she hopped up onto an empty barrel, sitting on it and crossing her legs. "And he's not even here yet, should we continue our present task Captain?"

Lucian looked over to her superior, Captain Vermut Rosnair, who frowned back at her subordinates with disapproval.

"Your demeanor is not fit for a Knight of Lescatie, Lucian. Please set a better example to your juniors. And Eba, even if our assignment is...unpleasant we still must do it. Our honor as knights demand it." She spoke sternly, although not unkindly.

"Y-Yes, Captain." Eba said, straightening his posture immediately. Lucian grinned and gave a little salute, her antics had long since lost their ability to rile Vermut up. Still, Vermut wished Lucian took her duties more seriously.

"Now..." Vermut began to ask Lucian to knock when she had frozen, looking over her shoulder. Eba's eyes widened and Vermut reached for the hilt of her sword as she made to turn around-

_Click. _

The barrel of a pistol pressed against the back of Vermut's head as the Hunter made himself known. He had made no sound, as if he had just appeared out of nowhere. Vermut raised her hands immediately, cursing herself for being so lax in attentiveness as she tried to look as non-threatening as possible. She gazed intensely at Lucian who had a scowl on her pretty face as she drew her sword. Beside her, Eba held his book tightly looking terrified. She should have known that this was going to happen. The Guild of Adventurers had described an irrationally paranoid man...with the experience of a hardened veteran hero of the Order and the skill set of an utterly remorseless, and yet very successful, killer.

She should have asked for more back up...because the menacing presence holding a weapon to her head was stifling. Furthermore…

"You...You have no mana..." Eba whispered in shock, which in turn made Lucian turn to him in abject confusion. "H-How are you alive…?"

The Hunter kept his gun arm steady as he regarded Eba and Lucian with dead eyes.

"Who are you, and what the hell are you doing on my property?"

"Your property!?" Lucian snarled with a mirthless chuckle. "Listen buddy-"

"Lucian!" Vermut snarled. "Shut your damn mouth, let me handle this!"

"Captain..." Eba whimpered.

The Hunter's finger tensed on the trigger. "I'm going to count to five. If you have not told me what you are doing here, you're going to see me through the hole I put in this woman's head." He said quietly. The threat was not false.

"My name is Captain Vermut Rosnair of the Order of Lescatian Knights." Vermut said. "I could have you hanged for this."

"Then you will die." The Hunter said softly. "And your friends will follow you to whatever afterlife you look for, unlike yours their deaths will not be easy. Try again."

Vermut swore under her breath, unfitting for a knight of her stature. He had the advantage of surprise and while she was sure Lucian was more than capable of taking down this man, she was not so sure about that succeeding with Eba who was focused on support. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out a way out of this position.

"We are here to speak to you." Vermut said, keeping her hands raised. "That is all there is. We are not the Inquisition, you...won't be in trouble. So just put the weapon down and we can discuss things like civilized human beings."

Vermut still felt the pressure of the barrel but the Hunter eventually relented. Vermut signaled at Lucian to sheath her sword although the other knight did so reluctantly, shooting a glare at the Hunter who didn't even bother deigning her with a response.

"Speak." The Hunter's voice was brusque and rough.

Vermut scowled. "There's a lot of talk coming from the guild about you." She said, trying to calm herself down.

The Hunter shrugged. Vermut noticed, with alarm, that he had not holstered his weapon. The man was lean and quite tall, with a hardened physique. His features were hidden underneath a hood, and he seemed young. His gaze was sharp, stern and very tired. All in all he looked, and was, dangerous.

"I'm a mercenary." The Hunter said. "Bloodshed is part of the job, it doesn't matter if I kill man or monster it's what I do."

"But..." Eba spoke up. Lucian put a hand on the boy's shoulder and shook her head when he looked to her in confusion. Lucian just kept a wary eye on their new acquaintance.

"How long have you been a mercenary?" Vermut asked.

"Quite a while." The Hunter said. "Long before I entered this land." His voice was curt and to the point. Lucian had a gut feeling that he was lying but the hood made it hard to read him. His body language also gave off nothing. Vermut could be being fed bullshit by this guy and she probably wouldn't even know it.

"And your...title? Hunter? What did you hunt?" Vermut's question made the Hunter stiffen.

And then he...he _smiled. _There was nothing good in that smile. Lucian felt her hands moisten and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"Beasts. I hunt beasts no matter what skin they choose to wear."

* * *

_4th Company Camp_

Wailing. Weeping, howling and wailing. The sounds of grief and pain.

Fina blinked as she sat up from her cot, at first confused. Then she listened carefully and quickly got out of bed and dressed. Once she was dressed she drew her sword and walked out of her tent to see Seras already up. The vampire was already scowling as she beheld the spectacle. Awkwardly Fina sheathed her weapon when she saw Seras staring at the naked blade in her hand. Fina stood by her foster mother as they beheld the spectacle.

Seven Banshees stood in the center of camp, their weeping and wailing echoing through the morning air. Their pale skins wrapped in black silken vestments of mourning, they wept for the coming days of battle when the Fourth Princess would come for the theocracy of Lescatie with a horde of monsters at her back. It was a haunting sight as many of the monsters in Ursula's army were rattled by the sudden appearance of the Banshees.

The Banshees served the Goddess of Death and when they appeared it would often be a prelude to death and disaster. They heralded the coming of death, something that not even Ares the God of War could change. Fina swallowed when she saw Natsume speaking to one of the Banshees, the Banshee nodding with remarkable patience as Natsume babbled her fears to the other monster. Her eyes were wide and wild, the expression on Natsume's face caused Fina's heart to ache for the once noble Kunoichi, driven mad all because she had to meet a dangerous man who desired nothing more than ruin upon her.

It wasn't fair.

"I tried to hold her back." Seras said, shaking Fina out of her thoughts. "Didn't work too well."

"So why..." Fina began and then she rounded on Seras. "Natsume was supposed to be heading to one of the Greilia Sabbath healers wasn't that the plan?"

"I thought it would help if she spoke to these Banshees. Damn, am I wrong now." Seras said. "Alright, let's go get her back." As the pair began to move towards Natsume to help her back to the healer's tent they saw Ursula approach, looking quite thunderous at what was happening in her campsite.

Seras held out a hand to stop Fina. Great. As if the situation needed to be made worse, the Captain was going to get involved.

/

Ursula had approached the lead Banshee, the one wearing a circlet over her black hair and more ornamented robes. The Demon Captain was not in the mood for foolishness. The appearance of the Banshees was causing chaos throughout her camp and it was bothering her. As if the Kunoichi's frankly concerning behavior was not enough, she now had to deal with an omen.

Whatever it was.

"Greetings, Lady Ursula daughter of Gamigin." The Elder Banshee bowed her head in respect. "What do you seek from me?"

"Why are you here?" Ursula demanded, not even bothering with courtesy. "Who is destined to die?" She looked at Natsume who muttered to herself under her breath. It was at that time that Fina had finally reached her friend and was trying to steer her back to the healer's tent.

"Many are destined to die." The Elder spoke, her voice filled with melancholy. "It is the charge of the Lady of Twilight for us to guide those souls to the afterlife, be they monster or man."

"You didn't answer my question." Ursula stated coolly.

"And yet I have. Many will die when the Fourth's assault begins...My sisters are also accompanying the other companies under her shadow and they give their guidance, however unwanted it may seem." The Elder Banshee smiled. "We do not profit off of the suffering of others, Demon. I would advise you to think otherwise."

Ursula scowled. Fine she'd let her have that win for now.

"Why else are you here then?" Ursula asked after a long pause. "I mean, it isn't everyday that the Goddess of Death graces us with the presence of her mighty servants."

The Elder Banshee gave a little amused smile. "I also come with a warning, Daughter of Gamigin. Beware the Moon Scented Hunter." Her blue eyes gleamed. "For he is a herald of woe, and should you decide to pursue him after your victories you will lose everything and everyone that you hold dearest to your heart."

"Moon Scented Hunter?" Ursula chuckled in disbelief. "What in the name of the Demon Lord does that even mean?!"

The Elder Banshee spread her arms. "The gods have their eyes on Lescatie." She stated. "There exists a man within its walls, a man who walks the earth cursed with strength and knowledge that he will take to the grave."

"So he is there..." Ursula mused. "Worthy prey that I have been seeking."

"Or your downfall." The Elder chided her. "I have warned you, in any case, and what you do with this warning is out of my hands. Have a good day."

The Banshee returned to her place amongst her weeping sisters.

Seras approached Ursula. "The hell was that about?" She asked.

Ursula shook her head, "We might have problems with the invasion." She said. "I will be gone tonight. Demeter will have command of the camp, I believe that the Fourth will be calling a council before she gives us the order to march into the city."

Seras sighed. "I will also be sending Natsume to the Greilia Sabbath." She told Ursula who looked down in pity. "And since Fina has stepped up to do her duties, what are her orders in the interim?"

"I want her to find our so-called Moon Scented Hunter." Ursula spoke.

Seras blinked and her jaw dropped. "Captain, what in the fuck." She stated. "You were just warned by that bloody Banshee that this man is not to be fucked with and you decide to send _my daughter_ out to try and make contact!?" The vampire faced Ursula fully now, a vein pounding in her forehead.

"I do not do this easily, Seras. But we have to know if the Order has him in their clutches. You can see why." Ursula spoke trying to calm down the irate vampire who clearly motioned for her to go on. "If this man is a threat to the Fourth's plan then we need to know and if he is a threat then he needs to be taken out of the equation."

She smiled slightly at Seras. "Imagine such a man in our ranks. Imagine the strength he could provide, we could have the Order at our knees with such a blade under our command."

"Assuming he doesn't kill us all in the upcoming invasion." Seras pointed out, scowling. "I want you to think carefully about this, Ursula. My daughter's life is in your hands. I do not want this to blow up in all of our faces and if something happens to my daughter I will be most..._displeased_."

"I know." Ursula said softly.

"I know."

* * *

The air was stuffy this night.

Druella, Fourth Born of the Royal Makai and Fourth Princess of the Demon Realm, eased back into her chair and smiled as she heard the sounds of debauchery happening in the fortified camp of her army. Truly, the human realm of Lescatie was a bit too humid for her tastes but when it was conquered it would change for the better.

The lilim crossed her legs already wishing for more luxurious dwellings than this tent. Sure she was more than capable of creating a space for herself but why make something yourself when it was far, far more challenging to just take it?

She looked over to the east, where her target was wrapped cozy in its stone walls. Lescatie, a powerful seat of the foolish Order. Her new realm awaited her, and all it needed was a little push. The white haired succubus smiled wider.

Dear me, she mused, I have a lot of work to do.

/

The council was attended by the strongest and most useful of the court of the Fourth Princess. Ursula waited alongside three other captains as Kikimora dressed in black lifted the long table and set it on the grass. More monster maids and incubi set up chairs, refreshments and other miscellaneous items needed for the meet.

Ursula had to smile to herself. Never let it be said that Lady Druella was an awful host.

"What puts a smile on your face, dear sister?"

Ursula turned to the Captain of the 2nd Company.

Daria Noharis smiled as she faced her contemporary. The High Orc's tanned skin was swathed in leather armor and furs. A mercenary from the more mountainous areas of the continent, Daria caught Druella's attentions recently and had thus pledged her skills and her forces in service to the lilim. The red eye jewelry that marked many who fell under the white winged succubus's shadow was present as a buckle on Daria's belt.

"All this. It's been weeks and I tire of waiting. I long for the rush of the battlefield once more." Ursula replied.

Daria laughed, a deep growl filled with humor. "So you say. I'm just here for the loot. Apparently the Fourth also has rumors of quite the tasty prey so I've been hearing..." Her eye glinted. "A Hunter from what I have been hearing."

Ursula refused to let her smile dip even more than it should. Seras had been talking to the Sabbaths back in Royal Makai, especially the White Goat Sabbath and the Sleepy Magical Archive. None of them had given any real answers to their dangerous person of interest. Ursula should not have been surprised to find that Druella knew about him as well.

There was a rustle of cloth and everyone seated at the table rose as Druella walked inside escorted by two Dullahan Knights and a peculiar black furred Baphomet. It was Kuroferuru, Devil Goat of the Black Mud and leader of the Sabbath that shared her name.

"Well now, my dears." Druella spoke as she conjured an oozing and levitating black throne for her to sit in. "It has been far, far too long a time to be so idle especially for monsters such as I."

"Indeed, milady." Kuroferuru giggled. "A hedonist such as thee has no business in being so still."

"Oh hush, my dear Black Goat." Druella said to her with a wide grin on her pale, beautiful face. "Now, I must say that I am rather excited to get started on our invasion. Are our companies in readiness? Surely we all deserve to be the tip of the spear...especially with what we are all about to do."

"The First is ready, Your Highness." The First Captain, Isabella Orelov, smiled as she bowed. The Elder Vampire's armor gleamed dully in the light, as dark as a moonlit night and yet adorned with the same red eye jewels as everyone else wore. She led the most focused warriors in the army, her knights doing their duty and riding down the common foot soldiers.

"The Second's ready whenever you need it, Princess." Second Captain Daria raised her fist. The High Orc led shock troops, those responsible for getting into grips with and demoralizing the enemy. Daria led from the front, for in her company those who had the strength should be able to lead.

"Ha! The Third will gain the most glory! Send us in first through the gate!" The Third Captain let out a bestial howl. The Hell-hound, Piscina, revealed a white set of fangs. She led the largest concentration of beastmen in the army and even the most individualistic Minotaur would heed her commands. Such a horde would be responsible for breaking through weaknesses in the enemy lines.

"My Fourth Company awaits your orders, my Princess." Ursula bowed her head as eyes gazed at her. She was young yes, but she commanded a more supportive force that could bolster a failing offensive. Her monsters were disciplined enough for a strenuous duty like this.

Druella clapped her hands at the show of readiness. "How wonderful!" She tittered. "And truly, it seems that not only has the Fourth brought me much joy, it shares with me something interesting..."

"Indeed." Kuroferuru's grin grew wide as she held out a paw with well trimmed black fur. Floating out of the black void that she sat on, the Baphomet conjured up parchment. "A worthy prey for those willing to seek him out."

Ursula's eyes narrowed slightly as the Baphomet showed the picture of their Person of Interest. This one was also from Murasaki Natsume, who had fallen ill. She had kept that fact to herself and was wondering if she should reveal what had happened to the Kunoichi.

The so-called Moon Scented Hunter. Such a troublesome existence. Already, Ursula could hear the Banshee's warning.

"My, my..." Daria grinned as she stood up to regard the picture of the Hunter. "What's this?"

Ursula heard some very excited pants coming from Piscina while Isabella looked at the sketch with a curious eye.

This time the sketch of the Hunter was a close up of his face, hidden as it was by the hat and bandanna. Ursula could see that there was something in his stern visage that caught the eye. She felt tempted to just rush into Lescatie, find the man and rip off that mask to see the handsome face beneath it.

"Should anyone bring this...promising individual to me in the attack...I will reward them greatly." Druella said with a smile.

* * *

_A few days later..._

Why was he here?

Cyril looked up at the Monster Orphanage deep in the woods and pondered the reason why he was here. It was maddening. Here he was, at the most dangerous location for him standing around like an idiot as if he was going to find answers to the uncomfortable question of "what now?".

The Hunter sighed. He knew he was going insane if he was thinking that the Night of the Hunt was easier than what he was going through right now. At least the beasts there had been trying to kill him. Apparently every monster girl was looking for a nice man to call their own. Which, for some reason, also included fell handed killers like him.

Cyril had long since finished the Monster Girl Encyclopedia and was honestly floored with what the Wandering Scholar was claiming, that the Demon Lord wished for a utopia of man and monster. If that succeeded, then where would that leave someone like him? A Hunter of beasts, slayer of nightmares that lived in times of peace?

It was a maddening question and not one that would be easily solved by staying in Order territory. The Order had long stood against the Demon Lord and her objective of unifying the world, but he would not stand with them either. Not with what he had seen in Lescatie where the clergy and the nobility conspired to exploit the common folk. Not when they themselves crusade and destroy anything that does not cooperate with their line of thinking.

He was not an advocate for the monsters but neither would he become a zealot for humanity's sake. He had long since seen what a man can do to his fellow humans. Sometimes the greatest monsters he had had to hunt down looked just like a human. Beasts who wore the skin of man.

Cyril sighed and turned around, heading away from the path that lead to the Monster Orphanage. He wasn't going to talk to Sasha and at this rate, there was no point. It was time to go. He just had to find a place away from any Order territory. He could defend himself from monsters competently enough and he could avoid them if he had to.

Perhaps Zipangu would finally be the place he sought. There was nothing on this continent but war, pillage and constant conflict with the Order. The Hunter kept walking, eventually making it home. Home. He didn't think this shabby old house was home anymore.

Cyril Sutherland walked into the back of his home where something waited for him. It was a greatsword, wrapped in bandages. He unwrapped the massive blade and took it up. The sword once belonged Ludwig, the Holy Blade. A Church Hunter who had devolved into a savage, insane beast until Cyril killed him.

In the end, the sword was bequeathed to him, after Cyril lied to give a once great man some semblance of a peaceful death. The blade gave out guidance and now, as battle approached he wondered what guidance it would give out.

Cyril planted the point of the Greatsword into the ground and leaned on it heavily.

He was tired. But he had to leave.


	5. Chapter 5

5

Siege

Cyril sighed as he saw that the Guild was closed. Already, he heard the murmurs and the disgruntled complaints when the herald that had come under escort began to speak about incoming troubles and stuff like that. Of course, the adventurers weren't happy about the closure and it was quite certain that the guild-master in charge of this branch was obviously going to take his complaints to not just the royalty but to the main branch in another country.

The Hunter knew that the Guild had some clout, seeing as they were the ones defending the merchant caravans that pulled in trade for the City. He idly wondered what the fat cats in the noble court were going to do when they realized that closing the Guild on the account of trying to save costs for the incoming attack would end very badly for them. The adventurers were not going to work for free after all.

_That _was going to rustle some feathers in this city. Cyril could care less about that. As far as anyone knew he wasn't planning on staying here for long. Especially with a horde of monsters descending on the city in good order, he just needed a direction to go. He reached into his jacket for the map of the known world he had purchased and knew that the mapmaker had marked a port city near Lescatie for him to get to, knowing full well that the guy was fleeing too the man had offered Cyril a ride in the next caravan out of here which was leaving tonight.

Tonight.

He just had to wait until sundown and he would be out of this city, out of the reach of the Order. Away from the madness that were monster girls...well, he was probably wrong on that last one. He probably would encounter even more monsters but at least in Zipangu many of them were of a reasonable bent and he would not have to draw his blade on someone.

The Hunter was not foolish enough to hang onto the dream of peace however. As he left the Adventurer's Guild, avoiding any familiar faces he knew that everything had a price, whether it was gold or blood he did not know.

But already he knew the answer to that question. Already, he felt the blood of both the innocent and the guilty on his hands.

/

Cyril again wondered how bad his luck was going to get as he returned to his home after a day of meandering through the market. At least the day was not wasted as much as it should have been. The mapmaker he had spoken to had confirmed that they were indeed leaving tonight with a merchant caravan. The universe did indeed balance itself out however, with his bad luck confirming it.

Because a clergyman was waiting for him in front of a carriage. Cyril clenched his fist as he recognized the Hero escorting him...Wilmarina Noscrim, the strongest hero in Lescatie. The Hunter narrowed his eyes, feeling the weight of the Holy Moonlight Sword hanging off the harness on his back. He sighed as the clergyman walked up.

Cyril saw some resemblance between the old man and the Hero, so this must be her father.

"Greetings, Hero." The man said, with a twisted smile. The Hunter could smell the ambition and greed oozing off of this man. Cyril didn't return his greeting and crossed his arms staring at this buffoon who seemed to believe this conversation was going the way he wanted it to. Having his daughter, the Hero, here wasn't even going to help him in the slightest. There was a threat here, laughable as it may seem. He would at least let this man speak for himself, not that he cared in the slightest about his words.

"And you are?" Cyril asked, his voice utterly unimpressed with the situation. The clergyman's smile faltered slightly.

"I am Lord William Noscrim." The man stated officiously to the Hunter. "I have come here to ascertain the value of a rumored Hero right here in this city and to have him join his blade with the many who would fight for the Chief God."

"And what does this have to do with me?" Cyril asked again, knowing where this conversation was going.

"Watch your tone." Ah, there it was, the man's polite veneer was cracking. The clergyman's smile disappeared in its entirety. "A peasant should know better than to speak in such a way to their betters."

"And a man who believes in the gods should strive to be more humble." Cyril returned coldly. "Lest they meet their lords in a tragic end."

The clergyman's face was a sight to behold as it turned a very dangerous shade of furious red. To the side Wilmarina's jaw had dropped in such shock it was almost funny. This must have been the first time that she had seen someone dare to speak in such a way to a member of clergy, let alone someone as high ranking as her father. It truly did surprise her that there were men like this Hunter, men who did not bow to the Order or the Chief God.

"Enough with this posturing, priest." Cyril said his tone a dangerous whisper. "What are you wasting my time here for?"

"Your continued insolence is displeasing to me." William Noscrim scowled. "And Heroes only need to obey the words of the Chief God."

"Your god isn't mine." Cyril stated calmly. "And neither am I a Hero or anything like that. You're wasting your time and if you intend to start a fight here I can guarantee that someone is not coming back home in one piece."

He straightened his stance. "Your choice." He said softly. "Leave or die."

"Wilmarina. Teach this heretic the meaning of humility."

Sighing to herself Wilmarina stepped forward drawing her sword. She did not want to fight here at all but those hopes had been dashed. Her father was overbearing but the Hunter who insulted him was also someone who lacked respect.

"So be it." Cyril Sutherland spoke calmly even as the girl in front of him widened her stance. "We'll do this your way. I hope you will not come to regret it." The Hunter reached back for his Saw Cleaver and swung it sideways, extending the blade. He then reached down to his belt for the Fist of Gratia, a hulking clod of iron fitted with finger holes.

/

Wilmarina held her sword tight as she saw the man, the Hunter, approach. His stance was open but the Hero clenched her teeth as she realized just how _dangerous _her opponent was. Wilmarina knew that the Hunter had experience. A lot more experience than she ever had. She had been speaking to Captain Merse Dascaros but even that one eyed harpy knew nothing about her current opponent. She had no desire to fight him but honor demanded it. Even if the order was coming from an unworthy lord, her own father, she still had a duty to dole out punishment for heresy against the Order. Such was her duty as a hero, humanity must be defended even if it must be done against itself.

Wilmarina hoped that the Hunter had no hard feelings about what she was going to do. She had to teach him a lesson after all.

The Hero charged sword raised for a thrust...that the Hunter sidestepped with ease. A staggering blow to the back of her head caused Wilmarina to fly forward and hit the dirt. With a grunt of pain Wilmarina staggered to her knees as the Hunter lowered his off hand, which was holding what looked like a clod of iron with finger holes in it.

Wilmarina felt the back of her head. The divine blessings of the Chief God would help her shrug off most injuries but she knew that if she wasn't so blessed the blow would have caved the back of skull head in. Panting, Wilmarina got back up as the Hunter waited. He blinked in some surprise to see that she was back on her feet, but he resumed his usual stoic expression.

Wilmarina went for another strike that the Hunter parried with ease, and proceeded to hit her twice in the side with the clod of iron. Wilmarina bellowed soundlessly, saliva rocketing out of her mouth as her body seemed to curve around the Hunter's fist with the second hammer like blow. Just as her feet hit the ground the Hunter kicked her right in the solar plexus and sent her flying backwards.

Watching the duel end in a spectacular manner, William Noscrim paled as he watched his daughter hit the ground spread eagle. She rolled onto her side, holding it as spikes of agony went through her lungs and her sides. The Hunter looked down at the injured girl with a pitiless glance and then turned his grim, stern gaze on the clergyman who backed up slightly. It was only pride and humiliation that kept the clergyman from running in terror.

He did not expect his daughter to fail like this most of all.

"I suppose that means your god was on my side." He stated coolly. Wilmarina gasped in pain as she crawled back away from the Hunter who swung his Saw Cleaver down and clipped it onto the harness on his back. "This duel has ended, go from here and do not retaliate."

"What makes you think that I'll forget this, heretic?" William said, trying to bluster his way out of this.

"Because if you send someone after me..." The Hunter warned him. "I will kill them, and then I will find your home and I will gut you." He pointed at Wilmarina who had hit the floor again, gasping for air. "That girl is your daughter. Should you try me again, I will kill her and I will end your line with no hesitation."

The Hunter's visage hardened and William nearly fell to his knees as a wave of massive killing intent emanated from the man. "You will find my terms to be quite generous, priest. Leave while you still can."

/

Cyril watched the two of them go, Wilmarina leaning on her father as the clergyman walked with a brisk pace. The bastard didn't even care about the Hero's condition which made him scowl before the indifference settled in. What was the point? The Order had their eyes on him now, and with the fact that he just bested their best warrior in a street fight he was sure there would be even more repercussions for his actions today.

He would just deal with it, as he always had. With steel and strength, he would have to carve out his own ideal of isolation. He would not actively seek out conflict but if someone wanted to fight he would most certainly end it. Cyril looked up at the sky, it was going to be a long day and an even longer night. Assuming he was correct in his prediction that the-an attack was coming. Cyril knew monsters weren't patient types. If they wanted something, they would get it. Whether anyone wanted to or not. The Hunter returned to his home to make sure his things were packed. After that he would wait for whatever came for the city. Fate seemed to be cruel enough to put him in such a situation, and if indeed the monsters came for him then so be it.

He would make these streets run red with the blood of man and monsters. Anyone who got in his way of freedom would die. Simple as that.

Cyril took up his whetstone once more and sharpened the blade of the Holy Moonlight Sword.

* * *

"Fina."

The Dhampir scooped up her buckler as she stopped her preparations briefly to face her mother. Seras had her arms crossed as she watched the young woman she had raised for eighteen years in her long life stand up to face her. Seras beamed with pride at how Fina had grown...and that pride was tempered by fury at what her Captain was doing to her.

"M-Mother." Fina was surprised. "I was just...getting ready for my mission." She looked down as Seras approached her. "I never got to say good-bye to Natsume..."

"I know, my darling." Seras whispered holding her daughter tight. "But she has to stay sedated, I cannot risk her safety if..."

"Your pardon, Lady Seras."

A Dullahan was standing at the entrance to the healer's tent. Seras let go of Fina and regarded the monster knight with a trademark scowl. "What is it?"

"Doctor Little is requesting your presence." The knight said. Seras's eyes widened as did Fina. This was something neither woman expected and it showed in how shocked they were.

"Lady Greilia is here!?" Fina gaped at the Dullahan who nodded in return.

"Aye, she just arrived a few minutes ago via portal."

Fina and Seras looked at each other. "Perhaps we should see what she wants, mother." Fina said trying to make sense of what just happened. "She could be helping Natsume before they depart for her Sabbath."

/

Greilia was a rarity amongst monsters. She sought neither companionship or someone to warm her bed at night. Instead, her days consisted of helping those who could not help themselves. She treated the sick, the injured and when required she gave comfort to those who were about to die.

The Baphomet may have the looks of a child but she had lived a long, long life. Still, her idealism and her desire to help those who could not help themselves remained strong. It was an ideal she spent several lifetimes teaching to those who were capable of becoming healers in their own rights. Hence why it was so hard to get into her Sabbath.

The diminutive healer walked around the 4th company camp with Ursula in tow. The Demon Captain was certainly surprised to see one of the foremost practitioners of Pharmacomancy wandering around in a place like this but she had her reasons. Battle always inevitably took lives away from man and monster and while Greilia had never raised a blade in anger, she was still inevitably drawn to the wars that erupted on the continent between the Order and the forces of the Demon Lord.

"I see that you are all well prepared." Greilia turned around to look up at Ursula who bowed her head. "Will you be needing more healers? I mean this city is important to the Order after all."

"That would be nice, Lady Greilia but..." Ursula trailed off as she saw Seras and Fina approaching. She sighed. Greilia had wanted to speak to these two privately, and she had been waiting with her for the past thirty minutes. Seras barely even acknowledged her Captain as both she and her foster daughter bowed their heads to Greilia.

"Doctor. This is a surprise, I thought you were busy." Fina stated.

"I was." Greilia answered with a quick smile. "I just stopped by to take a look at your friend, Fina." She turned to Seras and her expression was warm as she remembered the precocious vampire who was under her wing over two hundred years ago. It was such a shame to see her so...jaded now. Then again, Fina had been a handful before. And she knew that was an understatement. Seras took her duties as both a healer and a mother seriously, something that took its toll on Seras's mood.

"Hello, Seras." Greilia greeted her former student.

"Teacher." Seras returned. "I was just getting ready to send Fina off on her mission." The sidelong glare that she sent a wincing Ursula made it clear just how...upset she was with the whole thing. Greilia pitied her, she really did. Fina was Seras's greatest treasure in this world of theirs and…

"Shirokuto and Runya send their regards, Seras." Greilia said. "There's been an awful lot of talk about what you have sent to them." Her expression turned grave for a moment. "This man has no background? You've never heard of him?"

"Not until Natsume came back...like that." Fina answered sadly. "The Captain has asked me to spy on him, see if he has any loyalty to the Order but it is unlikely that he is though from what I've seen."

"So he's inimical to man and monster alike." Greilia mused to herself as she lifted a black furred paw to her chin. "Shirokuto has some theories as to who he is. But...Getting answers from that smug girl is just a horrid experience. The moment she got Seras's message she threw herself into investigating him and that symbol on the sketch."

Fina wasn't surprised. Shirokuto, the White Goat of Wisdom was an arch-mage of legend even long before the current Demon Lord ascended to power. She was also stubborn, secretive and very paranoid about sharing her work with others. Even if it would benefit all of monster kind. Runya would have been a better person to work with, and she was already busy with all the magical theories she was working with.

Even she was enamored by the mystery of this person who had no mana and yet could take on monsters without trouble, let alone be affected by any seduction techniques from the monster. Runya considered it a terrifying yet fascinating conundrum. Greilia had thought them both mad for thinking that this was just a problem that books and learning could solve.

"Regardless, I think he could represent a significant obstacle to the Fourth's Plans." Ursula said. "Which is why I want him evaluated."

"You think of him as prey." Seras's tone was firm. "I don't, Ursula. That Banshee had good reason to warn you not to pursue him in any way. Fina told me that he's a gifted killer and as sad as it is, the man is a danger to others. Pissing him off is the most unwise thing that you can do."

"I still have my duties to Lady Druella, Seras." Ursula's reply was smooth and yet just as determined as the vampire's.

"And the knowledge that failure means that my daughter's blood will be on _your hands._" Seras said, her voice a threatening whisper that caused Ursula's eyes to narrow.

"Enough." Greilia said sternly. "We all have a mission to complete but fighting about it will not help things in the slightest." The Baphomet stared both women down until they relented and stepped away from each other.

"Fina, you know who this man is?" Greilia asked.

"Yes, milady." Fina answered.

"Then I would advise you to start observing him now, do not make contact. I expect a report from you as well." Greilia said. "In the meantime, Seras. Ursula." She looked at the both of them with a wide smile that was clearly most displeased with how they were acting. "Please take me to Miss Murasaki before I take her to my Sabbath. I'd like to get started on preparing her for the journey back to Makai."

She looked at Fina with a gentle smile. "I will do my utmost to help your friend, Fina. You have my word."

Fina's smile was fleeting but sincere. She bowed her head in thanks and moved out to begin her mission. She steeled her heart for what lay ahead: hunting down someone who was possibly the most dangerous man in the city.

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Fina had made her way into the city of Lescatie. It was so, so easy to sneak past the guard. The Adventurer's Guild may have been closed but that did not mean that the stream of travelers had stopped. Mixed in with the refugees who sought entry and safety in the city meant that the guards were overtaxed with keeping the area secure against monsters.

Fina knew that there were hordes of them coming in from all directions, a part of Druella's plan. It was risky since it meant that her army would have less prisoners in the attack to come but it would weaken Lescatie significantly. The Order also did not realize that there were spies like her who were doing their utmost to unravel things behind their walls.

The Dhampir made her way through the city, warily as she passed a troop of guards on patrol. Avoiding them was far too easy in the slums but she knew who she was here to see. It had been quite a surprise to find that someone had been passing intelligence to Druella herself. That someone was inside the city. Fina approached the orphanage and knocked on the door.

The person behind it opened it, sighed and ushered her in.

Fina did not remove her hood, even in the presence of Sasha Fullmoon. The woman who would be the architect of the Fall of Lescatie.

/

"How are the children?" Fina asked Sasha as they sat in Sasha's private quarters.

"They are all fine. But, anxious at how the city has become such a prison now. No one is allowed to go out at night and there are soldiers everywhere. Even I find it hard pressed to go to the other children."

Fina frowned as she heard the exhaustion in Sasha's voice. She had been pushing herself too hard these days. The Dhampir sipped her tea as she mentally prepared herself for the next question she was going to ask the veteran hero.

"What of this Hunter?"

Sasha seemed to shrink guiltily as she looked into her teacup. "He got into a fight with Wilmarina Noscrim and won. The whole clergy is in an uproar but...I don't think he cares."

Fina felt slightly elated. So Sasha Fullmoon had spoken to the man. "Did you tell him that?"

Sasha looked at her and laughed sadly. "He kicked me out of his home and told me not to speak to him at all." She sighed as she stood up and put her empty cup in the sink. "I...I had taken him into my confidence since he was there at the second orphanage but...I think he did not want to know anything at all about monsters..."

She looked at Fina and continued speaking. "So I just keep an eye on him. He's a troubled man, Miss Fina. I don't think he's looking for anything from mamono. He just wants to be left alone."

"His actions aren't helping him if that's the case." Fina crossed her arms. "If he did beat Wilmarina Noscrim then that is kind of worrying for everyone who was involved."

Sasha agreed with that. "He's planning on leaving the city if the attack goes through. I would let him if I were you."

"I know..." Fina said. "My friend...she...she met him one night and things had changed with her, I...I hope she's okay when they send her to Sabbath."

Sasha looked over at the Dhampir, who sighed sadly underneath her hood.

* * *

In the end, sometimes plans never go right.

The city was under assault. Cyril could hear the fighting outside, the ringing of metal. The screams and moans of those monsters who found their prey. The battle cries. It was a cacophony of noise that would have driven a lesser man insane. For the Good Hunter it was just background noise, noise that he just shoved aside as he opened the door of his house and closed it behind him for one last time.

In one hand he held his Saw Cleaver, in the other was his pistol. The small hand lantern he used was buckled onto his belt. The sky had darkened and over the city he spotted a full moon. The encyclopedia said that monsters enjoyed the night. Cyril Sutherland did not, for the moon was a constant reminder of the great burden he bore on his shoulders. The Holy Moonlight Sword was something he was saving, in case a really big monster came at him.

The secrets of Yharnam would die with him. That was his charge, and it was best that no one should learn the truth of that faithful night. Cyril locked the door and tossed the key into the bushes. He thought sarcastically to himself that he should get someone to house sit for a while as he was not sure how long he would be away from this home.

The Hunter turned around, sensing someone behind him.

"I've found you heretic." The man in the long coat and hat spoke as he drew his sword. "Your death has been brought to you by Inquisitor Alaric Brandon. Repent and I may make your death quick."

Cyril didn't even bother with a verbal reply, swinging his Cleaver with such speed the Inquisitor barely dodged the strike that would have separated his head from his neck. The Hunter strode forward, weapon raised as his opponent charged him with a war cry. The movement was perfect for an ordinary swordsman, but it was predictable to a man who had faced an eternity of nightmares. To kill a man like the Good Hunter would require something more than faith in a god and a sword in hand.

Cyril fired his pistol just as the Inquisitor swung down. The bullet tore into the man's gut, causing the Inquisitor to stumble onto his knees and gasp. Swinging his cleaver down one handed, Cyril's Saw Cleaver bit deep into the man's body. The Inquisitor gasped in pain as he looked in disbelief at the brutal metal blade that had carved into his chest through his shoulder. Cyril yanked the weapon out brutally, before swinging at the man's neck.

Inquisitor Alaric Brandon had lived his life honorably, serving the Chief God as an agent of the Inquisition for ten years. His career, and noble life, ended in the slums of Lescatie at the hands of a man who would butcher his way through men and monster alike during the dark days of the invasion. He would not be the first victim during the days of the invasion.

The Hunter let the headless body stay there as he heard the ring of steel grow closer. He could smell blood and magic in the air, among other things as he heard the ecstatic cries of monsters. So they had managed to get into the city proper.

The Good Hunter let out a breath into the coming night.

The Hunt had begun.


	6. Chapter 6

6

The Lamentations

Violence begets violence.

"WAIT! WAIT!"

The ogre shrieked as the Hunter's cleaver descended onto her head, crunching through bone and brain with merciless efficiency. Cyril Sutherland's eyes were pitiless as he yanked the blade out of the greenskin's body. All around him, men and monster had died by the blade or by the bullet. The city was chaos as monsters ravaged and took men who were foolish enough to stand their ground or had failed to flee in time.

Cyril had seen what happened to those who were taken, having lost their minds to the monster's magic. But they bled and all things that bled could die. It didn't matter if it was a monster or a man, a beast was a beast wearing skin. For a moment the Hunter didn't see the city of Lescatie. His mind had taken him back, back to the Night of the Hunt where beasts and madmen roamed the city. The same beasts that he slaughtered on a constant basis during a horrific night that never ended.

Cyril snarled as he shook his head of those memories. He still had to get out, he could not afford any distractions. When he was out of the city, when he had finally found somewhere he could live in peace then maybe he would let the memories come. He could live with that punishment. The Hunter moved on, doing his best to avoid open battlegrounds. He stopped, hiding behind the ruin of a building as he saw a pack of werewolves chase a group of Order Soldiers around.

Keeping a tight grip on his Saw Cleaver Cyril kept moving, eyes sharp for anything out of the ordinary or potential additions to his body counts. He was not about to rescue every trapped soul in this city either, it was damned and everyone who was still here knew it. Peeking around the corner, Cyril crossed the street keeping low as he heard the flapping of some great beast above. A howl alerted him and the Hunter moved even faster, firing his pistol into a blur he barely saw.

The monster screeched as the Hunter's bullet took it in the gut. Cyril barreled through the wreckage of a carriage and found himself caught up in a fight. He swung his Cleaver into the mob, his muttering filled with baleful cursing. Even if he did make it early enough that mapmaker who told him he had a ride out of here was either dead or taken by a monster. In any case the location, an entryway into the sewers and a short trip later and he would be out of the city. If his luck held, he'd be doing it in a wagon or a good horse.

Cyril pistol whipped an Order soldier in the face, the man's skull shattered like an egg. A wail alerted him to the sound of a harpy that flew at him in incoherent rage. Cyril cut the bird like monster woman apart with a vertical swing, snarling as he was slowed down by the mob fighting it out in the streets in front of him...around him.

The Hunter let out a bloodcurdling howl, filled with hate. Hate for everything around him. Hate for the Night of the Hunt. Hate for himself who had stained his hands with blood. The crowd of men and monsters briefly turned to the new opponent that had revealed itself. Many of those faces lost their rapturous glow and had turned to terror as something utterly inimical to all sentient life was just unleashed upon them.

Cyril's first victim was a spear-man of the Order who died instantly, the Saw Cleaver completely obliterated his face as the Hunter swung it into him. The Hunter's pistol barked once, killing a Lamia instantly with a head shot. She fell, her body twitching in its death throes. The Hunter hacked his way through, making no effort to tell the difference between innocent or guilty. He hated himself enough for his sins. What was a few more to add to the already heavy burden on his shoulders? What was a few more bodies, when the siege was already in the monsters' favor? The Hunter spun round and beheaded another monster with a savage back swing. Blood sprayed through the air covering horrified men and monster women that stood there paralyzed at seeing such slaughter. Cyril's empty pistol bludgeoned an Order soldier in the face, breaking through bone with a wet crunch.

The Hunter swung his cleaver savagely into another monster. He kicked the dying monstrosity aside and went for another victim. His blade carving a path through the mob of men and monsters, Cyril's blade work was brutally effective. Another crunch of bone, a man died without a sound. Cyril swung again, horizontal this time and opened a monster's guts to the night air.

Cyril snarled furiously as a sword bit into his side. The enemy warrior gawped in terror and confusion as Cyril's Saw Cleaver carved a deep gash in her skull. She died in confusion and pain, slumping boneless to the street, another addition to the carpet of bodies in Cyril's wake. The Hunter stalked forward saw cleaver swinging as he ended another man's life. The boy screamed as he lost and arm and a leg. The Hunter's boot crushed his throat and ceased his screaming.

The Hunter killed. And killed. And killed. Covering himself in the crimson life fluid of men and monster alike.

He was not going to stop until he was out of Lescatie.

If he had to fight the entirety of the Order _and _whatever Monster Lord's army to do it, he'd be happy to oblige them.

/

Fina stopped as she saw the headless corpse sitting in front of her target's house. The Dhampir panted, realizing that things had gotten a lot more complicated. The attack on Lescatie had been perfect, the spies having done their best to undermine the city's defenses. In fact, it may have been that the city's growing problems had been the ticket to Druella's mostly successful invasion.

The problem was that the Order still had its teeth. Fina shuddered at the thought of her target striding amongst their soldiers to face them in battle but seeing the headless corpse of an inquisitor changed that. It seemed that the Hunter was intending to escape the city. Fina drew her sword. While there were many monsters already inside the walls, there were still pockets of resistance throughout the city. Heroes, soldiers, knights and anyone else who could pick up a weapon to fight had been conscripted by the clergy.

She kept walking through the slums, eventually finding more corpses. Men and monster littered the ground like a trail, all of them were in various states of dismemberment. Fina felt sickened by the slaughter but she judged that this trail of destruction was the Hunter's grim and bloody work. The Dhampir retched as she saw the bisected halves of a Werewolf. The monster had tears streaking down her cheeks from her dead eyes, which stared at the body of a young man wearing armor, he had died trying to hold his guts inside his body. His other hand reached out to the Werewolf Fina avoided looking at the tragic sight, wondering what kind of mad fiend was so ready to inflict such cruelty upon other living beings.

If she was any wiser, she would have known that when pushed, men would do horrible things to another living being in order to survive. Such was the fate of all who took the oath as a Hunter, they lived and breathed on bloodshed and pain.

/

Fina continued following the path of carnage, passing by monsters who were already having their pick of the spoils. Cries and moans were everywhere, which contrasted with the ring of steel and the battle cries of those Order soldiers who fought to the bitter end. The Dhampir saw that the city was in chaos, ignoring those monsters who beckoned her to join the fun and avoiding Order soldiers who carried out their orders to the last man.

She had a mission to complete, a terrifying one that she did not want to see the end of.

Fina continued through the darkening streets even as she felt a terrible force of mana approach the castle. Druella herself was on the move, ready to take the castle and the royal family to end this siege. That was not her problem. She had to find this Hunter before he escaped...before he-

"Greetings, Fina daughter of Seras."

Fina turned, sword in both hands as a Banshee stepped out of the shadows. It was the very same Elder that had visited Ursula's camp a few weeks ago. Fina lowered her weapon but only slightly. "L-Lady Banshee." She said, her breathing hard. "What do you want from me?"

The Elder Banshee blinked and she tilted her head. "Did you not hear my warning to your captain?" She asked.

"I...I did." Fina said hesitantly. "But I..."

"So she has chosen not to heed it." The Elder said softly, her voice tinged with regret. "Then I hope she is prepared for what is to come..."

"Who?" Fina asked. "Who is prepared for what?"

The Elder faced her, eyes filled with grave certainty. "Your mother will lose her daughter this night." She pointed at Fina whose eyes widened.

"If you face the Hunter in battle, your skull will hang from his belt and your mother will weep and wail but you will never return to her embrace." The finality in her tone caused a chill to go up Fina's spine.

"Who..." Fina asked, gulping. "Who else is fated to die this night by his hands?"

The Elder smiled. "Such concern for others you have." She commented lightly. "Many will never return in triumph from this city. A proud High Orc will die screaming in the streets. A Lamia will never go home to her husband and daughters. A Kunoichi will offer herself willingly to the Hunter's blade all to silence the voices that haunt her every waking moment."

That made Fina stop thinking for a few moments, trying to process the information she had just been given.

"A...A kunoichi." She said slowly to the Elder Banshee. "You said a Kunoichi."

The Banshee tilted her head. "Yes?"

Fina swore. She sheathed her blade and started running to the front lines, ignoring the Banshee staring at her back. The Elder smiled serenely, already the threads of fate that chained her to the moon scented Hunter had changed directly, intertwining directly with that of the Kunoichi's. An unbreakable bond, impervious to the cloying touch of death...for a while at least.

The Banshee did not know where that path would take young Fina but she was interested in how this story would end. She stepped back into the shadows, to the realm where all her kind moved freely to wherever they were needed to grieve for those who were about to be lost.

* * *

The Hunter panted underneath his cloth bandanna pistol emptied and Saw Cleaver covered in blood. Cyril shakily holstered his pistol as he reached for his shoulder, particularly the arrow impaled in it. Pulling it out, he irritably rolled his shoulders as he reached into his coat pocket for a Blood Vial. Yharnam was said to be the home of blood ministration, and successive infusions were more potent which caused Cyril to become a heavy user back during that fateful night…

Still, the blood had a price and Cyril had eventually paid for it. The Hunter shook his head ruefully as he looked at the red filled vial. Savagery was the price for such miracles, he had learned. If the carpet of mangled bodies he had left behind in the streets was indicative of that lesson, then he was a perfect example of why the secrets of Yharnam had to remain buried.

Jamming it into his thigh, Cyril felt the sacred blood do its holy work. His wounds and, strangely enough, his clothes began to repair themselves. It was something he never questioned, how or why it worked would always remain a complete mystery to him but he was not about to complain about some good fortunes. Cyril had calmed down but as he turned back, he shuddered at the trail of carnage he left behind. The Hunter looked around again, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He was out of the slums at least but…

He may have taken a wrong turn somewhere. He was supposed to be heading eastward, towards the gate and then...Cyril shook his head, he leaned against the wall. He had lost himself. Again. The bloodlust was getting worse, and he was not going to afford continuing to do so. Cyril looked at his left hand, seeing it tremble was troubling. The Hunter clenched his fist trying to stop himself from trembling. He was tired, he knew that but he still had a long way to go before he could rest his head. That meant that he had work to do.

"I should have left while I had the chance." Cyril said to himself bitterly. Gripping his Saw Cleaver tight, he was aware of how distant the battlegrounds were. Loading a fresh cartridge into his firearm, Cyril holstered it and continued heading to the eastern part of the city. As far as he knew, that was his goal because that was where the mapmaker with the wagon was. If the guy wasn't there then it wasn't his problem, he'd just take the wagon and leave.

If not...then he'd make his own way out of the city.

Cyril continued his advance out of the city, avoiding men and monsters alike. The Hunter had also learned some stealth during his time in Yharnam. Some fights you just didn't want to get into and landing the first blow on an unaware enemy was often key to winning hard fights. Sure backstabbing and underhanded tactics made you look like a complete and utter bastard to more honorable folk but really who the hell was complaining? Cyril had fought and killed more than his fair share of Hunters in Yharnam that way, and the guilt would remain for the rest of his unnatural life.

But it was only fair for him to resort to pragmatism because his opponents were doing the same thing. Everyone wanted to survive. Nobody wanted to die, and Cyril understood that quite well. He just tried and made sure not to make every death he caused personal.

The rattle of gravel alerted him. Cyril stopped walking and turned his head to the side.

"Come out." He said in a low growl. "Before I find you."

"...Master Cyril?"

The Hunter blinked in surprise as Sasha Fullmoon revealed herself, her white robes covered in soot. Beside her were a group of children, monster and human. Cyril clenched his fist tightly as Sasha's eyes widened at the dried blood that covered the Hunter's form and the demented, gory weapon he was carrying in his hand.

"What happened to you?" Sasha whispered in fright.

"I was attacked." Cyril replied coldly. "And I responded in kind. Most of the blood isn't mine." Idly, he wondered if she was going to ask any more stupid questions but was interrupted by the child at Sasha's side.

"Miss Sasha, stay back!" The Salamander at Sasha's side waved her wooden sword at him as she stepped forward. "He's a...a killer!" And said child was, of course, a monster.

Cyril stared her down grimly until she lowered her wooden sword. "So I am." He muttered in a bitter tone that he kept to himself. The Hunter looked at Sasha, who was covered in ash and soot. She seemed...in shock, as if something bad had happened to her. Cyril noted that there were only a small group of children behind her, a far cry from the filled church that was once her orphanage.

"I should ask what happened...but I guess it wasn't anything good." Cyril stated stoically.

Sasha looked at him. "The Inquisition burned down my orphanage so I was forced to defend myself." She said softly. "And I am now considered a heretic to the Order." Her voice had turned brittle and numb. "I didn't save all of the children under my care. Lisia and Emiyu were taken by the monsters. Elt went to rescue them, but I don't think he will meet us. Or come back whole from his rescue attempt."

She shivered. "My life, and my achievements, were all worthless in the end." She told him blankly.

Cyril scowled at her. "Now what are you going to do?" He asked icily. "Are you going to stay here and burn with what you have left? Because I am leaving." The Hunter stepped past her.

"Then can I come with you?"

Cyril stopped. He should have just kept walking, and left her there to whatever fate had in store for her. As far as anyone knew this was her fault for raising monster children in Order territory. The monsters would have done anything to her, or the Inquisition would at last take its revenge on a heretic hiding in their midst.

He should have left her there, but he hesitated. He knew why. The man he used to be was still there, inside him. It was this human voice, long before he had entered the city of Yharnam, that told him to stop. That asked him what in the hell he was thinking leaving a woman and the orphans under her care behind in a city under siege.

Cyril hated himself for listening to it. But he was right. Because if he just outright left Sasha and those children there to die, then he would lose everything that he thought kept him human.

_Tell 'em about this ol' Oedon Chapel will you, good Hunter? Anyone who's willing to shelter here can be safe! I'd really appreciate that. _

Cyril felt a smile grow on his face as he remembered the blind, deformed yet utterly kind creature that had offered him a brief respite from the Hunt. It was a shame that the man had ended up dying in Yharnam. He didn't deserve that fate and neither did the people he failed to rescue from the horrors of that one fateful night.

Especially Arianna. He wondered what she would have thought of him had he decided to leave Sasha...but no matter. She was gone now, just like Adella, the Doll...He would never see them again and all he had were their memories. Memories that he swore to do good by. Memories that he had nearly forgotten in his deep hatred of this world.

"Fine." He said, causing Sasha to look up at him in surprise. "But if anyone lags behind, they stay here and take their chances." He turned to look at Sasha, his gaze sharp but not unkind. "So keep up if you all don't want to die here."

Sasha took a deep breath. She nodded at him. "We're all ready to go. Ember, gather the others." She state resolutely. "Thank you."

"...We're not out of the city yet, Miss Sasha. Thank me if we make it out of here alive."

/

All Sasha had been able to rescue from the orphanage were the Weresheep twins Mina and Tina, a young man about Ember's age, Aran, and Ember the Salamander herself. Just a small group of young souls that she was responsible for. Sasha swore to herself that she was not going to let anything else happen to them ever again.

She may not have been able to hear the voice of the Chief God anymore but she was still a veteran hero and a healer. Sasha did not have the formidable sword and sorcery skills of many heroes but she still had her own tricks up her sleeve. The simple staff she carried was indicative of that. She may have been a healer but she would fight as hard as any seasoned knight to protect what she had left. She was no longer a Hero of the Order, but that did not mean that she could not do good for those who suffered in their name.

Aran held Mina's hand while Ember had Tina carried piggy back style. Aran was a lot more cowardly than Ember and his bangs often covered his eyes but he was a good boy at heart. When he saw the Hunter he had nearly passed out from fear. The intimidating man just took stock of who he was escorting, muttered dejectedly to himself and waved them forward with his empty hand. The demented Saw weapon that he carried was still caked in gore.

Sasha was honestly surprised that Cyril had agreed to taking them along. The former priestess was even more surprised that Cyril hadn't killed her then and there. Then again, he didn't know her involvement in the Fall of Lescatie. She had been the one passing information to the Monster forces and she wondered if that agent she spoke to was still in the city.

Then she realized that it would probably best if she didn't meet with her at all.

Sasha sighed as she saw the devastation all around her and kept walking. Her home wasn't her home anymore, it was another battleground filled with grief and she knew the enemy were both men and monsters. Sasha was not about to let anyone take away the children she still had left. And it seemed that Cyril had the same idea even if he was clearly reluctant about taking her in with them.

As she followed the Hunter, she noted the massive sword strapped to his back partially wrapped in bandages. Sasha did not know that Cyril was a swordsman, but the feeling she got from the weapon...it was as if it was…

Alive. Somehow, Sasha could feel the sword's intelligence, it was a vast mysterious thing and she could hear it whispering, if Cyril made any sign of hearing the weapon talking to him he did not show it to her. He was very private and she knew that he would keep something like that a secret from everyone. Sasha looked down. She was curious about her savior, sure, but she knew how much of a bad idea it was to rile him up by asking too many questions. A glimpse behind the mask would surely do terrible things to her sanity if she were to try and get too close to Cyril the Hunter.

* * *

"What do you mean she slipped way!?"

Seras Mariana Brusilov was not impressed with the way the two witches were looking down at their feet as they reported the Kunoichi missing. The Vampire's expression was thunderous when compared to Greilia's who was simply worried about her patient. Natsume was supposed to be in the healer's tent getting ready to leave for Greilia's Sabbath, the main headquarters that was in Royal Makai the seat of the Demon Lord herself. But she had escaped, and for what reason nobody knew. It had pissed Seras off mightily and Greilia could see that it was taking everything in Seras's power not to cut off a certain pair of witches' heads.

Ursula's Fourth Company was in the city proper, their spears and shields keeping the Order forces at bay while Druella and her entourage took the castle by storm. Already the other companies were marauding their way towards the castle and hordes of monsters descended upon Lescatie itself.

"I...we were checking on our other patients and we had made sure that the restraints were tight." One witch stammered as Seras locked her baleful eyes onto the diminutive woman's frame.

"And they were, but she...she must have cut them..." The second witch spoke up feebly as Seras glared at her in turn. "I-I'm sorry...we...we made a stupid, rookie mistake..."

"She may have been mentally unfit for duty but she is still a Kunoichi." Seras finally said, rubbing her forehead to ward off the incoming headache. "Damn it, Natsume..."

Greilia heard the fear and desperation in her voice and that made the Baphomet sad. Seras was losing it and because of the Elder Banshee's earlier warnings, she had not been sleeping well. Seras knew that prophecy was imprecise but that...thing had said that she would lose her daughter this night. Now...Now she was about to lose another. Natsume had come into Fina's world as an initiate shinobi who dreamed of becoming one of the greatest, and both girls had become fast friends.

For Seras, who had taken in Fina and had raised her as her own, it had been a joyous occasion to see the two of them work and grow together. In a short time, Seras had considered Natsume her daughter as well. Those were such happy times, and now she was close to losing them both. All because of Ursula's pride. Well, she had another thing coming if she thought that Seras was just going to stay here. She was a Brusilov and the Brusilov Clan never backed down if someone they loved was in danger. Seras was _not _going to lose both daughters this night.

Seras's fists clenched repeatedly as she tried to calm herself down. "I'm going to have to come up there myself to drag the both of them to safety." She said coldly. Leaning a hand on her sword hilt, Seras marched into the city ignoring the questions from Ursula's troops. She could honestly care less about following orders right now, if Ursula wasn't happy with her decisions then tough shit.

She could find another damned healer to push around. She was done with Ursula and her ilk for endangering her daughters.

Greilia, having seen the icy rage that surrounded her pupil, followed after her uncertainly. While Seras was obviously a master swordswoman, she was a healer of prodigal skill. Greilia was hoping that nothing untoward was going to happen but she was well prepared for the inevitability of combat. She had been there during those dark days, of course. When monster and man slew each other during the reign of the monstrous Demon lords that demanded the subjugation and destruction of humanity.

* * *

"Well, well...We meet at last."

Sasha held her staff in both hands, grimly, as she saw the group of high rank monsters in their path. The High Orc smiled as she beheld the Good Hunter who had folded his cleaver. He then reached for the sword hilt on his back.

"The name's Daria Noharis, I lead the 2nd Company." The High Orc smirked as her single eye gleamed in anticipation. "You, Hunter, are my prey. Come with me and maybe I will allow you to also keep that woman by your side as a pet."

Cyril Sutherland responded by leaning his greatsword on his shoulder. His eyes burned red underneath his hat. Above them, the clouds cleared up as the pale moon hung serenely in the night sky. A breeze blew and for a few moments the world seemed to hold its breath. Daria's smile faded into a frown as the Hunter brought his sword forward.

The sword was glowing, blue light dancing across its blade. The bandages fell off as Cyril smiled underneath his bandanna. He could hear its voice, a curious thing asking if there was going to be a Hunt.

"Yes." He said, seemingly to no one in particular. The sword glowed harshly, a pale blue moonlight that echoed the full moon above. "Another hunt has begun, and I know I am not worthy to wield you. But I have responsibility for other lives this night and I would require your guidance if just for a little while."

Cyril widened his stance, eyes crimson and sword glowing as he readied himself for another slaughter in the making. Daria barked out a command as her soldiers formed up. He felt his eldritch blood sing in his veins as he let go of the few fetters that remained to him.

"Tonight, Cyril Sutherland joins the Hunt."

With a bitter laugh Cyril swung his sword down, a beam of shadowy moonlight flying into Daria Noharis's second company veterans. The light wave vaporized several of Daria's finest warriors, such was their destruction that their mana was completely annihilated. The Second Company Captain charged at the Hunter who blocked her axe with his sword.

Never before had someone so brazenly challenged her, Daria was going to teach this man a lesson. The Hunter pushed her back with surprising agility and started swinging at her. Daria dodged the glowing sword, feeling its biting cold. One hit and she would join the rest of her men. Two of her orcs charged at the Hunter from the side, the man simply cutting them in half with a single swing. Still spinning, the Hunter aimed his blow at Daria's midriff. She ducked then promptly kicked the Hunter sideways, managing to launch him a few feet to the right. Rolling to a stop the Hunter got up from his knees, holding his sword.

His red eyed glare caused Daria to stand still in shock and growing fear as he stood tall after a few moments. The Hunter readied his sword again for another strike, a thrust. Daria backed away barking out a warning to her troops to stay away from the charging Hunter. This was her fight and she felt the heavy burden of the monsters who had just died under her command.

Another pair of orcs had just died, utterly destroyed by the sword in the Hunter's hands. The Hunter's advance was implacable as he slaughtered his way through his enemy. Daria gripped her axe tight wincing at the carnage.

She charged again, meeting the Hunter head on.

/

Druella stopped, eyes widening as she looked to the moon. Never before had she felt such a fell power before. Druella stepped out onto the balcony of her recently conquered castle and looked to where that strength was coming from.

"Stay here." She told Kuroferuru as she took to the sky. She did not hear the protests of her favorite Black Goat.

As she flew towards the source of power, she felt a shiver go down her spine.


	7. Chapter 7

7

Moon Scented Hunter

Druella landed at a scene of carnage, the first thing she saw was her person of interest cutting down one of her captains. Daria Noharis landed in a limbless heap, screaming in agony for exactly twelve seconds. The Good Hunter silenced those twelve seconds with a thrust. A mercy surely but Druella didn't see it that way most certainly.

The Fourth Born glared at the Hunter who pulled his greatsword out of the mangled corpse and leaned it on his shoulders. The blade glowed with an ethereal blue light, warning Druella that one good hit from that sword would be certain death.

"I seem to have murdered one of your subordinates." The man in front of her said softly, voice muffled by the cloth bandanna he wore. His eyes were crimson, not like hers but that of the arterial spray of blood. There was nothing in them, nothing at all except a malevolence unmatched by anything in this world.

Druella smirked regardless of how angry she was at the sight of Daria being killed in such a brutal way, even as she felt the overwhelming pressure press down on her. It was like staring down her mother on a bad day. This man, the Moon Scented Hunter, was not any ordinary enemy. The Lilim lifted a hand. "Unfortunately for you, I'm not about to just give up."

The Hunter readied his sword as he saw dark magic gather in the palm of Druella's hand. Druella fired off the mana shot and the Hunter reacted with such speed she barely caught him rolling under the blast of magic and rising up, charging at her with his sword. A thrust to the chest was his intention. Druella flew up with a flap of her white wings, looking down at her opponent who drew a flintlock pistol with his off hand. He fired at her. Druella flapped her wings twice, jinking to the side to avoid the shot and then dove right at the Hunter, a black blade forming in her hands.

The Hunter jumped backwards to avoid it, he raised his sword and brought it down. An explosion of blue moonlight sent Druella flying, the Lilim barely able to right herself in the air. Druella hissed as she felt her skin burning. Even her magic barrier had no effect on that sword, it was either something crafted by the Order which she highly doubted or...it was something far more ancient, something that had not come into this world by natural means.

"You're quite strong." Druella complimented the man trying to get a rise out of him. The Hunter just brought his sword back onto his shoulder and advanced on her menacingly, making no sound as he did so. His greatsword was still glowing eerily in the night.

No reaction. Druella readied another round of magic but the man put up a surprising burst of speed as he rushed towards her sword raised. Druella channeled that magic into another barrier as the sword slammed into it. Gritting her teeth, she felt her ears start ringing as the Hunter put more force into the blow striking again and again, hammering the barrier with everything he had.

"You talk too much." He told her before swinging his sword at her at her midriff. Druella flapped her wings, forcing her body back but it was far too late. She screamed as the sword cut a line on her belly. She felt her wound, it was shallow but still it burned. The sword was magic and the wound it gave her would be slow to heal even with her powers. That wasn't the worse thing though. She could feel its magic burning through her body like venom. It was honestly terrifying but if she lapsed in any attention here then her conquest would be cut short.

And she would never see her mother again...

"You're withdrawing." The Hunter said coldly, snapping Druella out of her thoughts. "Smart. But you do realize that I will catch you in the end." He hefted his blade onto his shoulder.

"You truly are strong." Druella commented, smiling grimly as she tried to fight through the pain rushing through her body. "I haven't been pushed this much for a long, long time. It's just too bad that you are a murdering psychopath."

"Murder?" The Hunter blinked. "I acted in self defense, and you had this city marked for destruction for a long, long time. You must be mad to think that no one will defend themselves if the city they reside in is under attack."

He marched towards her. "It doesn't matter. One of us will live and one of us will die." He stated.

/

"Who...Who are we supposed to be rooting for, Big Sister?" Ember whispered as Sasha gaped at the spectacle before her. The former priestess shook her head as Cyril Sutherland clashed with Druella, Fourth princess of Royal Makai. She only knew the woman by reputation, from the very same agent that she had been passing information to. It was clear though that she was one of the dreaded Lilim, powerful daughters of the Demon Lord.

It was also clear that Cyril Sutherland, the mysterious man who called himself a Hunter, was fell handed enough that he could take her head on in single combat. She honestly did not know which was more frightening. The obviously superior monster woman? Or the utterly murderous madman who would gladly put a sword down her gullet after he found out what she had done?

"I don't know, Ember." Sasha said. "But we have to leave the city, Cyril is buying us time that we are wasting by standing here. Aran, come."

Trembling, the boy hefted the sleeping Weresheep and followed Sasha as she led the orphans to the eastern gate. She was going to have to go on her own and prayed that Cyril could disengage in time. She was not going to survive by herself in the wilds while taking care of children. Ember held a crying Tina's hand, the young girl having been awakened by the clashing of steel. Sasha had hoped that the twins would stay asleep but that hope was utterly shattered by the battle intensifying behind them.

Sasha looked back, seeing that Druella was on one knee while Cyril stood a distance away, eyes dead. His sword was in both hands, pointing to the side. The former priestess winced as the sword in Cyril's hands glowed eerily. Truly, she had never seen such a magic weapon. She had bet that many in the Order would wish to wield such a magnificent sword in their holy crusades, but seeing it in the Hunter's hands was something else. Sasha had seen the brutal nature of the weapon close up, it had utterly annihilated a high rank monster in a single moment of combat.

She kept going, ushering her wards onward and out of the city.

* * *

Druella panted, feeling her wounds heal slowly even as she looked up at the intimidating visage of the Moon Scented Hunter. Greatsword in hand, the Hunter began to move towards her. The grip on the hilt of his greatsword tightened as he raised it over his head. He was going to cleave her open if she did nothing to get out of the way.

The Lilim flew back, flapping her wings to propel her body away from the sword as it swiped down at her. The Hunter advanced on her again, swinging. Druella barely managed to get her magic up in time to block the greatsword from cutting her in two.

Screaming in effort, Druella's barriers sparked as the sword of the mad hunter came at her with the obvious intent to murder. Druella blasted the Hunter with magic, sending the man back, gaining a little distance to figure out how to disengage. Her wounds were bleeding, an impossibility for one such as her but a situation she now had to face. A situation that saw the fortunes of battle completely shift away from her as a surge of pain locked the muscles in her legs. Blood erupted impossibly from her wounds with such suddenness she didn't have time to scream in agony, the only thing she could do was fall to her knees. The Hunter brandished his greatsword, the weapon's blue light intensifying to an eye watering sheen. Utterly without remorse or semblance of mercy, the Hunter's advance was implacable. His footsteps echoed in Druella's ears, her body unable to move. The magic that the sword contained was hurting her enough that she could hardly raise a barrier, let alone use any offensive spells. It burned through her blood like liquid fire.

_Come on. Move! _She willed her body to move but the pain was so, so much…

Frustrated tears gathered in her eyes as she tried to move her body despite the agony. Despite her death approaching, the man with the tattered tricorne hat. _Move...Move...Please...Move. He'll kill me if I don't move..._

Druella winced as he placed the sword at her neck, the magic burning her. It was agony but she was bleeding out from wounds that should not have been serious. She realized what the Hunter planned to do. Druella's red eyes looked up in shock, and fear, as the Hunter spoke.

"I did ask to be left alone." He told Druella softly. Those terrible eyes locked onto hers, there was no hint of mercy to be had there. "For what it's worth, I will make it quick." He raised his sword, readying for a horizontal strike that would behead her in one smooth swing.

_I don't want to die. _

Druella blinked as she realized that she had spoken out loud. The Hunter blinked, his emotionless visage was hidden behind his cloth mask the Hunter kept his sword raised. "What did you say?" He asked.

"Please...Don't kill me." Druella said, numbly. "I don't want to die."

/

Cyril gripped his sword tighter. This...fiend, the architect of all of this suffering, was begging him for mercy that she did not show to those who had no stake in her war with the Order. "You..." He switched to a one handed grip on his sword as his off hand grabbed Druella suddenly by the throat and lifted her up. Druella, being currently strangled, made every attempt to pry his hand off of her throat to no avail. Cyril's fury came out in full force. The gall...The gall that this murderous bitch had! To ask for the one thing she did not give to these...

"You come here...with your armies, intent on pillaging and raping your way through innocent people." He growled at her, even as his grip tightened to a painful degree. The woman started gagging, desperate to breathe as the Good Hunter strangled the life out of her with one hand. **"And you have the gall to ask me for mercy." **

His crimson eyes glowed as the woman's hands finally fell limp. **"****Die, slow. Monster. ****And may this tainted world become a little brighter with your death!****" **

"STOP!"

Cyril saw the scythe coming in and raised his sword to block. The child swinging the scythe snarled at him as she pressed down on the haft of her weapon. Ebony Demonic Silver ground against Eldritch Iron as both sides sought to overpower each other. Cyril pushed the scythe aside and headbutted his new opponent. He dropped Druella as a result and knew that this was another tough monster he was going to have to deal with.

The Hunter raised his sword as the girl with the scythe stood over her fallen mistress. He noted with some amusement that her nose was broken. Still, he assumed that she was but one of many. Cyril didn't have time for this. His window of escape was closing and if he had to deal with this…

He grinned under his bandanna savagely. Good. Maybe then his road would truly end here, dying on a mountain of corpses. It was more than what he had deserved.

"You've done harm to the Fourth." The monster brandished her scythe in her paws. "I am Kuroferuru, Black Goat of Devil Mud."

Cyril didn't reply, instead tightening the grip on the Holy Moonlight Sword. "I don't care who you are or what you are, stand aside." He said coldly. "Or die."

Kuroferuru tightened her stance. "I won't let you hurt anyone else!" She roared. "I will bring you down if I must, Moon Scented Hunter!"

"Stand down!"

Kuroferuru's eyes widened while Cyril readied his sword as _another _child approached. Beside her was a scowling woman who had two young girls in tow. Cyril recognized one as the very same Kunoichi who had entered his former home without permission and the other as the adventurer girl he had a problem with. His eyes narrowed as the girl in the white coat of a healer glared at her similar looking companion and then stared at the fallen form of Druella.

"See to her, Seras." She instructed the scowling woman who glared at Cyril with both anger and caution. This one, now that Cyril had a closer look, was a Baphomet. Legendary monsters who served as Generals of the Monster Lord's armies. They bore magics far more powerful than the more common monsters.

"Master Hunter, I must ask-no plead with you-to cease this hostile action immediately." The Baphomet in white bowed her head. "This situation has deteriorated-"

"Obviously." Cyril's tone was frosty.

"Indeed it has." The Baphomet agreed without losing a beat although Cyril saw that sweat had broken out on her brow. "I am Doctor Greilia Little, if I may have your name?"

"What does it matter?" Cyril returned coolly. "Aren't you here to capture me for your mistress there?" He gestured at Druella, who was being seen to. She was barely alive, the Holy Moonlight Sword was far more effective than he had realized. The Hunter took note of that.

"I am not." Greilia replied, making it clear she had no interest in continuing this fight. She waved her hand, causing the scythe she bore to disappear. "I am a healer first and foremost, and I am trying to become the voice of reason here. The Fourth Princess has done you wrong, for that I apologize but there is no need for further bloodshed."

True. Cyril lowered his sword a fraction. "Why should I trust your word?" He asked Greilia.

"I am willing, more than willing actually, to allow you to walk away from all of this freely." Greilia answered. "Causing this mess was not anyone's intent, I assure you." She threw a disapproving glance at Kuroferuru who glared at her and him. "You have proven yourself a most dangerous individual."

She smiled sadly. "So the only thing I have left is to ask you for your mercy. Please."

Cyril looked slightly to his left and right as a crowd of monsters formed up. He let out a breath, and then sighed as the Holy Moonlight Sword dimmed slightly in his hand. He heard its whispers and he lowered it. The sword did not lead him astray.

/

Greilia let out the breath she was holding as she saw the Hunter lower his sword. He then leaned it against his shoulder as he stared her down with those horrible, horrible eyes.

Greilia's eyes widened as he spoke with a menace unheard of in this world. Behind her, she heard Natsume let out a moan of terror as Fina held her close. Seras made ready to cover Druella's body with her own and the monstrous troops around them shivered unable to move from the solitary, utterly dangerous figure that dominated the street.

"Do not follow me." He told her. "I have warned some of you once before and you chose to ignore it. Come after me and I will hunt you down."

Greilia looked as the Hunter raised his arm and pointed at Druella. **"And I will finish what I started." **

Greilia closed her eyes as the Moon Scented Hunter passed her by, disappearing into the night.

Thus was the birth of a new legend…

That of the man known as the Moon Scented Hunter…

* * *

Six months had passed since that night…

Consolidation was a curious thing, Greilia realized, as she looked out over the balcony of Castle Lescatie. The Fourth did technically take it over of course but her victory was surely bitter as she was bedridden and it seemed that something had taken root in her heart. A fear that did not go away easily.

Greilia turned away from the balcony, sighing tiredly. Druella was honestly lucky that she was alive. Whatever magic the Hunter's sword had possessed had not only sapped away her mana it had also done some damage that was slow to repair. Greilia spent much of her time healing Druella, doing what she could to try and get her back to previous function. It was slow frustrating work and with Druella being how she was…Greilia was reaching her limit.

Reports came to her from witnesses that the Hunter had also cut down many in his mad rampage. That included half of the Second Company, and their Captain. The bodies were so mangled it had almost been impossible to identify them. That wasn't even a small problem she now had to deal with. Controlling this city was going to be rough as word spread of Druella's humbling and the man responsible.

Dark fear and terrible stories spread throughout the brothels, the markets and during the night the cries of monsters were tempered by self-assigned curfews and doubled guard duty. Greilia had been there during the most heated of council meetings, and had reprimanded Captain Ursula the Fourth for her part in what had happened in this city. The Demon Captain was staying at an abandoned estate, it was rumored that she was distraught at what her findings had done during the siege. There were some who considered sending out elite task forces to scour the land for any sightings of the Moon Scented Hunter but Greilia had explicitly forbade such a thing from happening.

The situation in Lescatie was too precarious for that to even happen.

Greilia was stuck here now, waiting for the missive from not just Bapho-Sama but also the reaction of the Demon Lord who would soon find out that her Fourth Daughter had nearly been killed in the streets of an Order city. Druella was still in her quarters, and refused to come out to speak. Her subordinates were busy with rebuilding Lescatie for it to become a Demon Realm.

Greilia did not know how victory could become so bittersweet.

"Lady Little?"

Greilia blinked as she saw an Imp floating at the doorway.

The Baphomet sighed and approached the diminutive monster. "It's Doctor Little, miss." She said to the Imp who bowed and apologized.

"Yes...um...There is a message for you." The Imp presented a scroll and Greilia's spirits dampened further as she saw the wax seal keeping it closed. She recognized the elegant two winged seal made with high such high quality it looked alive.

It was the seal of Her Majesty, the Demon Lord Lilith, First of Her Name, Mistress of Royal Makai, Overlord of All Monsters...

* * *

"They say Lescatie has been taken."

"Yeah, and I hear there's only one man who escaped. A man who fights like a madman they say! Took on the Daughter of the Demon Lord, I hear!"

"They say he ain't human either!"

Cyril kept his cloak closed and pulled his hood up. The port town of Oppenheimer was quiet and unassuming. But no boats were going out due to the storms. The Hunter kept to himself but it was better than Lescatie, it was neutral territory and monsters were few in number. It was disconcerting to hear about his bloody deeds but that was the price of standing his ground.

He would wander the lands, cursed as he was, to find a home. So be it. Let the memories and secrets of Yharnam die with him.

"Hey!"

A tankard of fresh ale was put down in front of him. Cyril looked up at the pretty face of the barkeep.

"You dozed off mister Tennstedt?" The barkeep said, tucking a red strand of her hair back into her head scarf.

Cyril let out a breath. "No, ma'am." He answered politely. "Apologies, just have a lot on my mind."

The barkeep laughed. "Well then, I hope that ale of yours will help! Just call on me if you need anything eh?"

Cyril waved a hand.

She was a nice woman. He hoped that nothing bad would happen to her.

Or to this town but he doubted it. Lescatie was probably the beginning of something else. No way the Order will just take that without reacting. Cyril just hoped to stay way out of the way, it would be in everyone's best interests if he stayed out of the spotlight.

The Good Hunter took a sip of ale and relaxed. For a moment, he wasn't on the run. Just a tired traveler taking a rest before moving on to hopefully greener pastures.


	8. Chapter 8

8

Sheffield

There was something wrong with this...Klaus Tennstedt.

Laurence Miles watched as the man sheathed the simple steel sword at his side, staring blankly at all of the monsters he had slain. Wearing a hood over his head, the man silently marched back towards the caravan his sword was still covered in the blood of monsters that he had just slaughtered.

The caravan had been menaced by several monsters which included an Ogre and a Wurm but even that had not mattered to the guard that Laurence had hired. He had slain them all with that simple steel blade of his. Laurence never asked about what his guards did in their past lives but he had no doubt that the man he had hired on as a guard was something else entirely if he could take on an Ogre and a Wurm all by himself.

A murderer most likely. On the run from the Order...The portly merchant gulped as the man's horrible eyes turned to him. "Mister Miles." He said softly. "Are you hurt?"

Laurence cleared his throat. "Um...No." The merchant answered the question. "No...I'm fine. You saw off all those mamono sharpish eh? I thank you for that."

Klaus Tennstedt turned back to the remains of his work. "Aye, I did." He said softly. "Shall we get going?"

Laurence agreed to that wholeheartedly and the caravan got moving again. They were headed to more neutral territories since the Order put a lot of tariffs on goods, suspicion of monster activity was at an all time high in Order territories especially with Lescatie falling and becoming a Demon Realm. His current destination, the small city-state of Sheffield, was neutral in regards to relations between man and monster; i.e. if Order fanatics and Monster girls were clashing in the area then the military would step in. It was a remarkably stable region, and its people were like all of the ordinary folk in the world who were trying to make a living in this strange world of theirs. Monster fanatics and Order zealots were already enough of a problem.

Maybe that was why Klaus Tennstedt had come along...Maybe he was sick and tired of the Order AND the Monsters murdering each other and whatever place he had come from was just one more battlefield that the Order marched into. Laurence wasn't an adherent to the Chief God but Klaus probably used to be one.

He had asked Klaus if he was a believer in the Chief God. The man had said no. The fury in his eyes had told Laurence that the subject was best left unspoken.

Laurence looked over his shoulder at the young man who was sitting in the back of his wagon, polishing his sword. Laurence knew he was armed with other weapons, he had caught a glimpse of a greatsword on his back, but he thought it best not to ask about them. Klaus was a very private person it seemed but at least he was polite.

Furthermore, Laurence had a vested interest in keeping his head on his shoulders. Master Klaus was very skilled with handling very sharp objects and the merchant thought it best to stay on the young mercenary's good side.

/

Cyril removed his hood and let out a tired sigh.

He was on first watch tonight and the caravan had stopped near a creek. The fires were burning low but for now this region was safe it seemed. They had been spotted by a roving band of Centaurs who demanded what they were doing here. Cyril, acting as "Klaus Tennstedt", had been ready to fight but Master Laurence had managed to calm down the situation.

Cyril was thankful for that. He could have killed every guard in this caravan with his bare hands. The Centaurs had seemed to accept their reasoning for now and had let them go. The Good Hunter let out an annoyed exhale. Why weren't all monsters that reasonable?

Even Harpies, who were generally pleasant in demeanor, had a mating season and even now he warily looked up at the skies in case some of them were nocturnal. He looked back at his belongings. The Holy Moonlight Sword was bandaged up, dim but sharp as ever. His Saw Cleaver and pistol were in his worn rucksack. It was best to keep them hidden, for who knows how far the legend of the Moon Scented Hunter had spread? Cyril looked at the caravan guards. Which one would have recognized the name Cyril Sutherland if he had deigned to introduce himself as such?

The weight of the simple steel sword he wore on his belt was...uncomfortably familiar. He had been a soldier once...and that was as far as he remembered. He found it odd that he was thinking so much about the past. Perhaps it was the Waking World getting to him. It wasn't like him to be so focused on his past.

Cyril continued on his patrol, keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings. Unfortunately, Oppenheimer was not a good port. No ships were leaving for Zipangu but a merchant captain had wondered why he had journeyed south, when he really should have been heading to the eastern regions of the continent away from the Order. The fastest way there seemed to be through Sheffield, a city-state with connections to the port cities of the League of Oberon, named after a powerful warlord who owed no allegiance to man or monster. The merchant captain had referred him to Laurence Miles, the merchant he was currently guarding. And things went right from there...

He had a destination at least. That was what mattered…

If Cyril was honest with himself, he felt glad to be on the road again. The mess he had left behind in Lescatie was behind him, that was what he felt right now. It was honestly...liberating being on the road.

They arrived at a small town the next day, finally in the borders of Sheffield. Marienburg was its name. Laurence let out a relieved sigh as the gates closed behind his caravan. He had some work to do here before they were headed out to Sheffield. Grinning, the merchant told Cyril that he had some free time to do what he had wanted to in the town. The other guards were obviously appreciative of that fact, even if it was only for a few days.

Cyril decided to roll with whatever was happening. It was a good time to...unwind and relax. It was shocking that he had thoughts like this. He was a Hunter, and here he was trying to figure out what he was going to do with his time. All he had done, during that fateful night, was sharpen his weapons and get ready for the next fight where everything blurred together in a medley of blood and insanity and pain.

It...he felt relieved...but at the same time…

The Good Hunter let out a breath. Fear wasn't something he admitted easily at first. But he was afraid, truly, that this calm feeling he was feeling right now was not going to last long. That he was just waiting for the next plunge into bloodshed.

Already, Cyril realized with dread, he still felt the blood of countless slain on his hands.

/

Cyril had to admit that neutral territories were a lot different from those monster friendly states and those who belonged to the Order. It was...horrifying at first to see monsters moving about so openly but he was getting used to it. He glanced idly at a Holstaur who was advertising milk with her husband, a Lamia herald who was using her serpentine trunk as an impromptu stand so everyone could see and hear her. There was even a Gyoubu Danuki, a species of monster from Zipangu. Her golden eyes hidden under the brim of her straw hat, Cyril felt her eyeing him from time to time. That caused him to narrow his eyes and keep moving, drawing his hood up further.

That was concerning. Danuki were masterful merchants, and they get whatever they want through guile and subterfuge. While Lescatie was the worst experience he had been through that did not mean that he had gone soft. Guile was just as much as a weapon as a blade was.

He caught sight of a Harpy, directing a pair of men who carried her palanquin down the road. She winked at him but didn't jump at the chance to bed him right then and there. Cyril had let go of the hilt of his sword the moment the palanquin passed him by. Now this was just ridiculous, was he already being made by the monsters back in Lescatie?

The disguised Hunter moved through the market, checking things out while watching his back. A shoulder guard of steel interested him. Briefly, he considered adding it to his Hunter's Attire. As he hefted it, Cyril got another uncomfortable feeling of getting watched and sighed in frustration.

"Hey, you interested in that armor, stranger?"

Cyril turned around to look into the single largest eye he had seen. One on the pretty face of a Cyclops, the owner of the market stand. Honestly surprised that he didn't do something so rash as draw a weapon in the middle of a busy market street, Cyril turned back to the piece of armor. "I am...but if the price is too high to pay then I suppose not."

The Cyclops smirked. "Thomasin, at your service."

"Klaus Tennstedt." Cyril introduced himself with his fake name. "How much?"

"A night or two..." Thomasin said with a straight face that evaporated into laughter. "Just kidding, I'm not like those extremists who try to fuck every penis they see. No...My ma and pa taught me better than that." She looked at the armor piece. "Hmm...I'd say a hundred because you've been so polite."

Cyril shrugged. A reasonable price as he reached into his pocket for the required coin.

"And...I could repair that blade of yours too for that much." Thomasin said as she glanced at the sword at Cyril's side.

Cyril blinked, surprised. "Are you sure?" He asked.

"Hey, in Sheffield territory we're all neighborly. Especially in our little Marienburg here. We don't let monsters just run off with men that they like because they want to, that's just bad form. You can get flogged for that." Thomasin answered. "The new ruler of the city-state made that clear when she took over and she's a monster. Funny how things work huh? She wanted to change the way things are being done around here."

Cyril had nothing to say about that. "If only all of the kingdoms in this blasted land were Sheffields," He spoke idly.

Thomasin laughed as she accepted Cyril's steel sword. "If only indeed, then we wouldn't have wars with the Order or loonies like the extremist factions like in Lescatie."

The Hunter nodded in agreement, and his hood made it difficult for Thomasin to see the cold expression on his face. The Cyclops got to work on repairing the Hunter's blade while he waited at the market stall. He hadn't found anything yet but he supposed he could afford to be patient. Master Laurence had some work to do in this town before they got on the road again.

/

Cyril left the market with a freshly repaired sword and new shoulder armor that he had added to his Hunter's Attire. It wasn't too heavy, after removing his cloak Cyril avoided putting on his hat and donned his black cowl instead. He got himself a small supper and began thinking about his next move. He honestly would have liked to stay in Sheffield but it was still too close to Order territories to be safe. Such a shame too...He had heard much from Master Miles about the city-state and wished he had time to stay a bit longer.

He was ready for whatever came for him though. The Holy Moonlight Sword had shown itself to be the most effective weapon in his arsenal, its arcane might had proven itself near lethal to any monster that dared show itself and thought that he was easy prey to hunt down.

It was best that he kept the blade hidden in his room and Cyril felt his room key dangling from a leather cord around his neck. He had a break in once. The guard had been most upset to find the thief had broken arms but Cyril explained that the man had pulled a knife on him in the dark. It was the last time he had been accosted in his own room.

The Hunter finished his food, gave the bowl back to the kitchen and headed upstairs to rest.

* * *

_Demon Realm Lescatie…_

Greilia was astonished to find him here. The man who was standing in the throne room was unassuming but it was hard to ignore the pressure in the room. This was the husband of the Demon Lord, Arthur Pendragon. Garbed in black plate and mail armor, he oozed martial prowess and command. His dark hair was slicked back neatly. His kind eyes were darkened by worry and Greilia knew why.

The strongest of humanity. The former champion of the Chief God. Now the husband of her greatest nemesis and an accomplished Magic Gem craftsman. To know that he was here, it was something she was sure that even the Chief God would not ignore.

"Lord Pendragon." Greilia quickly bowed as the man approached. "You honor me with your presence this day."

"Greilia." The man turned. His kindly face was offset by the worried expression he wore. "I...I saw her today. She's...She's still sleeping…She won't wake up."

Greilia knew what Arthur was talking about. Druella had not stirred from her sleep but the city must have its rulers and its council was doing what they could. But Druella's defeat at the hands of the Moon Scented Hunter, not to mention the slaughter he had left behind in his wake, had cast a pall on the victory. Greilia did not know what else she could do, but she was doing her best. Especially with Druella still unresponsive in her bed.

"I know, my lord. I am worried about her too." Greilia said softly. "But...I..."

"I spoke to Runya and Shirokuto about...about that man." Arthur said. "None of what they have is conclusive." They walked together out of the throne room, the diminutive mistress of Greilia Sabbath and the husband to the Overlord of monsters. "But the way he...he fights. Does he think that you are all the same monsters as those humanity had fought against before Lilith?"

Arthur sighed. "Did he truly believe that my daughter was a monster? Enough to put her in such a state that she cannot even wake from slumber?"

"I believe that the...extremist faction had provoked him into acting." Greilia said carefully. Arthur had a knowing look on his face but he was still a bit incensed at what Greilia was saying. "And the situation deteriorated from there, I believe that he only wished to be left alone. Yes, he is dangerous. But I think he can be reasoned with."

"Still...He hurt my daughter." Arthur mused. "And I cannot allow...no Lilith and I cannot allow that to go unpunished."

"Even if you send other monsters to their deaths? Even if that means he comes back into this city seeking blood." Greilia asked turning to him. "My lord, I must plead with you to act cautiously. I have reports of the man's capability for wholesale slaughter...furthermore."

She closed her eyes. The images of the bodies she had to bury, hearing all the pain and sorrow in the voices of those who were mourning, the rage she felt at the extremists who had caused all of the events to occur during the siege of Lescatie that led to Druella being in a coma, organizing the reconstruction of the city itself...and the feeling of outright terror she felt right now made it difficult for her to speak wisely. She took a breath.

"Furthermore..." She continued. "He has promised that he _will _come back for Lady Druella should he be provoked."

Arthur sighed. "Lilith is beside herself." He said to Greilia. "Not to mention furious that something had happened to our Fourth Born. So she decreed the Hunter a dangerous entity to those who are loyal to us, but I'll speak to her about what you told me Greilia."

He looked vulnerable. So vulnerable, but what kind of father would not worry after their daughter who had suffered injuries? Greilia cursed the name of the Fourth Company Captain for what she had done, then shook those thoughts out of her head. No. Now was not the time for blame. She had a patient to treat and a family to look after as well.

"I thank you, truly, for all that you have done for my daughter." Arthur said with a gentle smile. "But I must act. Even if I cannot move from Makai like this, I must act."

"I know, my lord." Greilia nodded in agreement. "But I still must implore you not to act rashly."

/

"Fina."

Seras found Fina practicing her swordsmanship in their new yard. The Dhampir lowered her long-sword and looked to her foster mother who had a grim expression on her face. The vampire approached Fina, looking not only tired but also irritable. Fina knew that her mother's usual expression was a scowl but it was upsetting to see her so angry.

"Mother..." Fina said panting. "What happened?"

"What didn't?" Seras sighed as she sat down in the grass. Fina joined her a few moments later. "Lord Arthur was here in the afternoon. And he's planning on doing something." Seras bit back a curse as she looked up at the darkening sky. "Something that involves our old friend, the Hunter."

Fina shivered. She had been there that night the Hunter had laid the Fourth Princess low in single combat. Now her mother and father were involved. Fina did not know what else she could say. Natsume was still in...distress and she wasn't going to be very forthcoming either. Seras had long since washed her hands of Ursula's Fourth Company, and had decided to call in some favors to get back into Greilia's employ, the Baphomet heartily accepted and things were stable for a while.

Seras had more time to spend with Natsume as a result, the Kunoichi still scarred by who she encountered but at least she could function somewhat. She was even quieter, but Fina was happy that she was on her feet, no matter how unsteady. Fina would be there for her sister. It was as simple as that.

"So what will happen...mother?" Fina asked Seras.

Seras sighed. "Well, there's a bloody council meeting coming soon. And I'm in it, so we'll figure out then." She looked back at the small house she had taken for herself, particularly at the second floor where Natsume spent most of the day painting. Paintings that unfortunately had some twisted designs to it, to the point that Seras had to hide most of them away from possible prying eyes. Red was a primary color. Seras had seen strange symbols in Natsume's work and it made her head hurt to look at them. And no, she didn't allow anyone else to see them because that would mean that even more people going to the doctor's. Furthermore what kind of idiot would allow people to view something that was obviously unhealthy for them?

The worst part was that a lot of those monsters who wanted to see the damned pictures were witches from Shirokuto Sabbath. Even they didn't know what that arrogant goat was doing but here she was trying to get more research done at the cost of other monsters who were trying to help other people. Seras was honestly half tempted to go back to Royal Makai to slap the fuck out of the arrogant bitch for making her daughter go through more problems. She had no time for people to come poke and prod her daughters just because they had encountered a madman with no mana and yet was more than capable of slaughtering monsters on his own, and some of those monsters he had put down were high ranked ones that ordinary heroes of the Order would have had trouble with.

Seras exhaled. "Fuck this. I'm getting dinner cooked, Fina." She said. "Grumbling isn't going to help my stress right now so just come in when you're finished. I'll check on Natsume for you."

Fina let out a chuckle and got ready to finish off her routine.

/

"Natsume?"

The Kunoichi stopped painting. She set her brush down on the table. The picture was unfinished but the clock-tower in Lescatie's town center was starting to look good. She liked it. Natsume adjusted her kimono and turned around to find Seras standing in her doorway.

"Mother..." Natsume whispered and smiled gently.

"I'm getting dinner ready, Nats." Seras said to her. "How are you feeling about that?"

Natsume's smile grew wider. "I'm hungry, mother." She spoke softly. "I apologize if I concerned you the other night." The Kunoichi stood up. She seemed to have shrunk in on herself these past days and Seras felt an abject feeling of despair seeing the once proud Kunoichi like this. Especially after the round of nightmares she had been having…

The Hunter had done more than threaten her. The man had killed the proud woman she had once become and she hated him for it, even if Ursula had been the one that had provoked him into slaughtering his way out of the city. That night was the first time in many, many years that she had cried.

Seras sighed as she entered the kitchen to get dinner started for her two daughters. She was not looking to ruin her night further by worrying about the council meetings she had to attend...or thinking about witches who clearly needed to get their heads checked because she heard them knocking on her door right now.

"Damnit!" She swore as she stepped away from the kitchen. She stomped towards the front door and wrenched it open. Seras' brow rose in both irritation and surprise as she saw the diminutive figure waiting on her doorstep.

"Um...Hello!" Runya Runya, the Sleepy Magical Archive, waved a brown furred paw as she looked up at Seras. "Can I speak to you, Miss Seras?"

Seras pinched the bridge of her nose.


	9. Chapter 9

9

The Butcher of Lescatie

"Well now, if it isn't...Laurence Miles..."

Cyril Sutherland, still donning the guise of Klaus Tennstedt, watched as his employer's smile turned into a wince, and then a dejected scowl as he turned around to regard the Gyoubu Danuki that had approached his caravan. Her kimono was a deep red, she was as elegantly dressed as any well-to-do merchant princess would be. Her red eyes gleamed mischievously looking at the Miles caravan, her large tail swished behind her. Her bodyguards were Oni, a red and blue one both armored in lacquer and metal. The red one gave Cyril a wink while the blue one already had a scowl forming on her face at her red skinned companion's antics. The red one had a club, the blue one a curved sword almost as tall as Cyril himself. High strength, Cyril wondered if he could take them on in a straight fight. He probably could, the red one was careless and carelessness lead to mistakes. Mistakes led to death.

The Hunter did not return the wink and instead observed the interactions between the Danuki and his employer. That was more interesting because it seemed that the both of them had some kind of history, and none of it was good, judging from the distasteful look on Laurence's face. The man's neck was slightly flushed and Cyril prepared to intervene if necessary. He could not afford any attention from the town guard.

"Kisaragi, it is such a wonderful day whenever you show yourself." Laurence grumbled in distaste. "Tell me, still looking to swipe sales from other good honest merchants like myself?"

"Hardly..." Kisaragi said crossing her arms. "Rather, I'm just trying to say hello to an acquaintance. Is that so bad?" She saw Cyril watching the argument unfold. "And who is this ravishing, yet stony faced specimen?"

"Picked him up on the road." Laurence answered Kisaragi as calm as he could make his voice sound, despite his growing anger. "Klaus Tennstedt may not be the most sparkling conversationalist but he's good with steel. Most of my men would be stuck in a monster's cave sucked dry if it weren't for him. Slew an Ogre _and _a Wurm on his lonesome."

Cyril eyed his employer. Such was his frustration that he made something of a racial statement. He saw the slight narrowing of Kisaragi's eyes was the evidence of the statement touching a nerve. Her smile had dipped slightly, but her bodyguards were more overt with their reactions as they looked at Cyril more cautiously now, frowns decorating their faces. The Hunter shrugged, time and again he would be forced defend himself to the best of his abilities. Cyril could understand her irritation but it seemed that Laurence had something of a grudge with the Danuki talking to him right now.

"Well...He must be very strong indeed." Kisaragi smiled coquettishly then abruptly turned her attention to Cyril, giving Laurence a brief look of disdain that Cyril caught for a few seconds before she was all smiles and flirting. Her demeanor irritated him. Greatly. Cyril could practically smell the deceit on her, and it was a cloying scent indeed.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Tennstedt." Kisaragi's tone was sweet as honey, and yet the way her bangs shadowed her eyes made Cyril straighten his posture.

"Greetings, Miss Kisaragi." Cyril replied with chilling politeness.

"So formal," Kisaragi tittered, as if she didn't just hear the quiet anger in his tone. "Don't worry, Master Tennstedt I don't bite. I understand that you are somewhat nervous around monsters."

Cyril shrugged. "I've had...horrific experiences with them. Rest assured however that my personal discomfort will not interfere with my blade-work. Human or monster, they want to start a fight I will end them."

Horrific experiences was a bit of an understatement. Lescatie was horrible and he was not looking for a repeat of that night, thank you very much.

Kisaragi's eyes gleamed covetously. "Well now...I normally would assume those words to be nothing more than a boorish boast but with you...For some reason I feel that I can trust you, Master Tennstedt." Brazenly she walked closer to him. If Cyril had been a lesser man he would have blushed because of her charm, or he would have shoved her away. Instead, the Hunter merely looked at her with such disdainful disinterest it was frightening to perceptive individuals. Kisaragi was certainly perceptive and she stepped back. Her confidence faltered slightly, her eyes wide under her bangs. Monsters were used to being expressive, it was this positive beauty what helped them score mates after all. The stony faced expression Klaus affected must have rattled her more than anything. Seeing such animosity must have scared her.

Laurence winced. Klaus Tennstedt was definitely an intense individual, even Kisaragi didn't deserve being under Tennstedt's negative scrutiny. "Er...Kisaragi, might wanna step back there. You don't wanna get on his bad side. But don't take it to heart, he's a good guy...most of the time."

"I see..." Kisaragi commented distantly now.

"Well...If you're still staying here, can I go? I have business in Sheffield that needs doing." Laurence asked, scratching the back of his head. Man this just got awkward in several different ways, so much so it wasn't worth seeing the uppity Danuki get slapped with such cold rejection that she was literally doing her best to keep her cracked mask on. Both her bodyguards were concerned for their charge.

"I apologize, Masters." The Blue Oni spoke up. "We seem to have lost track of time, Kisaragi-sama weren't you going to make a request?"

Shaking her head, Kisaragi nodded at her subordinate. "Ah-ha! I did forget, thank you Mion." She said. Cyril saw that she had recovered, and decided to step away from there. He had gear to check on and supplies to sort through. He felt eyes on the back of his head, and his own narrowed. Cyril merely adjusted his hood and kept walking.

/

"Thrice blasted...raccoon!" Laurence grumbled at the front seat of his wagon.

"You seem troubled, sir." Klaus said his voice quiet as he sat beside Laurence this time, keeping an eye out on the road. Kisaragi had asked to accompany Laurence's caravan since he was heading towards Sheffield, and even if the caravan was a bigger target Kisaragi had two very strong protectors. Combined with the mercenaries in Laurence's caravan (and Klaus Tennstedt who really should be considered a force of nature in Laurence's opinion) they should be relatively safe from harm.

"I don't trust Kisaragi Shirakome, simple as that." Laurence answered Klaus. "There's rumors that she buys out other merchants when they don't have enough product to sell, and has a hand in each and everyone of their pockets. Even the merchant guild won't dare confront her. I've been careful but watch out Mister Tennstedt, she'll have you by the balls if you don't watch your money."

Laurence took a sideways glance at Klaus who watched the road. The man's gaunt features clearly denoted that even if Kisaragi tried to coerce him into doing favors, he'd more than likely just cut her down right then and there. Laurence had seen the look on the mercenary's face when Kisaragi had tried flirting with the lad. It should have put a smile on his face, but not this time.

He took a glance at the carriage following his caravan. The two Oni that were following easily kept pace with the horses. The guards of Laurence's caravan were either on foot or driving the carts of product alongside his workers.

It would be a long time before Klaus would speak again. "So far so good." He said still not looking Laurence in the eye.

"Aye, if we keep this pace up and the weather's good we'll get to Sheffield in no time." Laurence answered. "Say, you...never really told me why you were headed to Zipangu."

Klaus went quiet again. "I hear things were more...peaceful there." He responded to Laurence's query. "I've had enough of being on guard whenever I travel."

Laurence could understand that. He too had sometimes wondered why he didn't just drop everything to permanently stay in Sheffield, he could just find a replacement and just let them handle the running of his merchant caravan. The merchant let that thought go at once, he knew why. He was a man who could not stay in one place but maybe someday he'd end up like his guard Klaus.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Laurence looked up at the gathering clouds that had begun to cover up the sun. "Blasted weather...I knew I shouldn't have said anything." He shouted at the wagons behind him, telling them that they would be setting up camp. And for the workers to break out tents. Beside Laurence, Klaus let out an exhale as he reached behind him for his brown cloak to ward off the rain.

Laurence wondered what else could go wrong.

* * *

The rain came down in torrents but there was no thunder. It was just wet and cold. Honestly, Shion had better things to do than to sit around. So she drank, as all Red Oni were wont to do. Mion, her ever more serious blue skinned cousin, scowled at the large sake bottle the Red Oni had carried.

"Again? Really?" Mion muttered. The pair of them were covered by large cloaks and their kasa hats were charmed with water proofing spells to keep out the rain.

"What?" Shion took a gulp from her gourd, equated to human terms a normal human man or woman would have to imbibe at least ten tankards of ale. "We've got nothing else to do other than stay here until the rain stops anyway."

"I'm not dealing with your crap if you get a hangover, you oaf." Mion replied scathingly. "I remember all of the times I had to drag your arse back to Kisaragi-sama's office every time you got in trouble or worse."

"Ah, I know what will cheer you up Mion." Shion grinned, showing off her sharp teeth. Her red face was getting ruddy. "We should invite that stony faced guy we met with Kisaragi-sama!"

Mion's expression turned downright cautious. "Shion, that is _not _a good idea." She said to her fiery spirited partner. "Why would you even think that? Kisaragi-sama thinks that he's dangerous!"

"Aw, shucks...I'm sure that he's a big softy inside!" Shion crowed. "And who doesn't wanna drink during such nasty weather anyway!?"

Mion still refused and crossed her arms, glaring at Shion until she scowled and gave up. She already had seen the way Tennstedt had looked at her mistress. The man was not fond of mamono in the slightest, she could see that in the coldly polite way he interacted with Kisaragi-sama. Surprisingly, despite what happened, he did not make any hostile movements towards them or Kisaragi-sama. In fact, Klaus Tennstedt was outright polite with them whenever they had interacted on the road. He would have been a fine catch for a husband if he hadn't been such a stony faced and dangerous individual.

She saw him walking right now, hooded and cloaked. He was making rounds around the campsite. He talked with the other human mercenaries who were also on watch, Mion saw the relieved look on their faces. Mion knew that Klaus was strong but seeing such releived expressions on the other men and women's faces…Mion had heard that Klaus had left the Order on account of seeing far, far too much wars with the monsters. At least, that was what the rumors say. She had spoken to several of the human mercenaries about Klaus and found that not a lot of people knew about him.

What kind of man was this Klaus Tennstedt?

/

Cyril continued on his patrol despite the rain. It didn't really bother him, despite being reminded of facing...facing…

The Hunter palmed his face as he stopped, struggling to keep his breathing under control. His other hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. Memories...Again with the memories of that fateful night, and the bleeding hell that was the Hunter's Nightmare.

_The Orphan shrieked and he endured as its weapon slammed into his body, sending him into the water briefly. _

_He was drowning...Drowning...But he got back up, sword in hand as the Orphan of Kos charged right at him flailing its demented weapon. He met its charge, the Holy Moonlight Sword glowing in his hands..._

Cyril let out a breath. He had put that nightmarish beast to rest. It had been the least he could do for something that had suffered not just the death of its parent but a meaningless life that would only end in despair.

"A bottomless curse, a bottomless sea...Accepting of all that there is, and can be..." He muttered softly to himself. He continued on his patrol, returning greetings from the other mercenaries he was working with. He couldn't remember all of their names as some of them were replacements for those they had lost to roving mamono or, surprisingly, bandits.

But he remembered the dead ones, their pleading or dead faces. That was his curse, to remember those who met a tragic end. Cyril had given up many things during the Night of the Hunt, but he was human enough to regret not being able to save everyone he could help. Cyril walked his route, coming back to where he had pitched his tent. A few more minutes and his shift on watch was over and he could sleep a dreamless sleep. Sometimes, he would dream of her standing in the field of white asphodels. The only person he cared about during the Night of the Hunt. Cyril looked up at the cloudy sky. "I miss you. Evetta." He said softly. "I wish I could see you again."

Thunder roared and lightning flashed. Cyril blinked. Something was wrong. Again, lightning flashed and Cyril saw someone walking towards his tent. The Hunter saw a knife in the man's hands. Cyril drew his sword and had it poised for a thrust, and the moment the knife wielding man opened the tent flap Cyril's steel blade punched right into the man's stomach.

The bandit groaned, blood seeping out of his mouth. Cyril watched him die, the bandit spitted on remorseless steel. Cyril pushed the bandit out of his tent and wrenched the blade out of the corpse. Interesting, so there are bandits who were smarter than the rest of their ilk. The Hunter slipped his cloak off and walked into the rain, vanishing into the shadows. He went back on his patrol route, already hearing fighting. Well, this was irritating. He had not expected a bandit raid in the middle of a rainstorm but things happened when you least expected. The Hunter looked around, checking his surroundings before making a decision.

Cyril moved into the brush, where he met his second victim. As the man stood up from the corpse of a mercenary he had just killed, the Hunter separated the bandit's head from his neck with a single sweeping blow of his sword. The headless corpse fell forwards. Cyril checked the mercenary and shook his head. The man had died in agony it seemed, making the attempt to hold his guts inside his body. Cyril quietly and solemnly closed the dead man's eyes, a habit he formed during the Night of the Hunt. It would not be the first, and certainly not the last, this night.

The Hunter moved on, cutting down bandits in his way. He took them by murder rather than fair combat. A bandit let out a gargle as Cyril's sword punched through his back and out of his chest. The mercenary that had been struggling with him sighed in relief as Cyril pulled the bandit aside then slashed his throat to make doubly sure that he was dead. The clash of steel continued to intensify and Cyril and the other mercenary moved quickly towards the source, finding a full fledged battle in the main camp. Cyril swatted aside a sword that was coming for his head and struck at the assailant with a well aimed thrust that punched into the bandit's chest. He met the charge of another one, catching the bandit's sword arm. He pushed the man aside and cut his back open. Why he was running around bare chested was anyone's guess.

The Hunter killed again, and again. His strikes were measured and deadly, cutting down man after man with no wasted movement. By the time Cyril realized he was done, there were bodies scattered around him and Laurence's mercenaries were staring. Cyril panted as he swung his sword down to remove the blood.

The rain had stopped. It was almost morning. Cyril looked into the eyes of the other mercenaries and saw fear and awe. He just shook his head and pulled his hood back on. He had bandits to kill.

* * *

_Demon Realm of Lescatie…_

"...Surely, it would be in our best interests to find this despicable being and execute him! He is a danger to us all, Lord Arthur! How many of us must be slaughtered before we realize the danger that we are all in!?" An Amazon spoke up passionately from the right side of the table.

Greilia's paws clenched on the table as more monsters continued to call for the death of the Moon Scented Hunter. A werewolf, a senior judging from the way her fur was turning gray, stood up. "Sisters, I agree with Lady Tione's statement." She said. "We cannot allow such a dangerous foe to exist for so long, his shadow has cast a pall on this paradise of ours. Our beloved Fourth Born is still unresponsive! Shall we allow this slight against our people to continue!?"

More calls for action. Greilia looked at Lord Arthur who considered every suggestion he was hearing. The monsters that took Greilia's side were few and far between, they were just tired of having the sword of Damocles hanging over their heads. If the Moon Scented Hunter was provoked into returning to Lescatie by reckless monsters who sought his head, then they would all be in danger.

Already, he had gained another set of monikers: The Butcher of Lescatie. The Bane of Monsters. The Unleashed Blade of Chaos. So many titles given to a man who had asked to be left alone, and here there were monsters who wanted to take him on. Knowing full well what kind of carnage they could expect to see if they allowed soldiers to make their moves, Greilia stood up. The diminutive Baphomet's austere presence silenced the council's debating.

"I see that we are all concerned with our new acquaintance but we cannot be rash." Greilia said, magic amplifying her voice. "You seem to believe that no man is a match for any mamono, and yet that belief has just been torn to shreds in front of us when this city was taken."

She was not admonishing anyone, but such was her frustration with the council's war mongering she could not stand silent any longer.

"This man, the Moon Scented Hunter, has shown himself to be ruthless and capable. He not only murdered his way through some of our finest warriors he has fought against a Hero in single combat and _won. _That was the testimony of Wilmarina Noscrim, who has decided to join our side." She looked at the council, their faces filled with anger and fear. "This _Hunter_ is not only a masterful fighter, he has also perfected the art of killing. His murderous talents were enough to attract the attention of the _God of Death_, everyone. I hope you do realize how bad it is if Hel herself has sent her messengers to us...and we just ignored them."

She continued on. "He has already laid low Druella, the Fourth Born of her Majesty Lilith. The Fourth Born is one of the most powerful Lilims to walk this earth, and _he laid her low in __single combat__. _I do not condone what he did, gods I know that I am sickened of the slaughter he had left on these streets, but I..."

She trembled hugely. Arthur started when he saw her distress and approached the Baphomet. "I cannot bear to create another mass grave of monsters and their husbands, I cannot bear to look into dead faces filled with terror and agony. I cannot wake up screaming every night, dreaming of a mad killer raising a blade to kill me with it. So please...I ask this council to act wisely. Do not waste lives in a fruitless pursuit."

Her voice got quiet.

Much like the council chambers as they considered what she was saying.

/

In the end, as always, the council was still divided. Greilia sat within her quarters and sighed as she washed her face. She was getting ready for bed, she had just returned from tending to the Fourth princess but there was no change in the comatose Lilim. They did what they had to in order to keep her as healthy as possible.

But it had been a long sleep...and Greilia sensed that it was her magic keeping her alive. She just hoped that Runya had answers, because no way in the seven hells would she go and ask Shirokuto to do so. Greilia sighed as she sat down on the side of her downy bed and held her face in her paws.

She just hoped that Arthur would not send warriors out to hunt down the Hunter.

Nothing and no one would survive that man.


	10. Chapter 10

10

The Dream

_Demon Realm Lescatie…_

"So I take it that Miss Spherica is disappointed that she could not interview Natsume?"

Seras muttered an expletive to herself and then regarded the Baphomet sitting at her dinner table with a sullen frown. Runya was not a rude guest, not at all. But she tended to be overly curious. At least she was more helpful than the other one, the White Goat was not a very social creature and thus had no social skills.

"I slammed the door in her face." Seras said with no hesitation. "My daughter is not some walking encyclopedia to just skim through whenever you need it." The underlying threat in her tone was enough to discourage a lot of the monsters who had come to her home. She had, in fact, had nearly come to blows with another monster over this. A Dark Mage had accused her of hiding away potential research to herself. Seras had threatened the other monster that if she was ever seen at her home again, Seras would gut her herself.

It was enough for Greilia to tell her to work from home for now, as a consultant whenever healing was getting a bit complicated. It wasn't as bad as she thought it would be but as always, Natsume painted in her room. If anything, Seras was glad that she was getting better...now if only she would stop painting such otherworldly horrors that would appear in her dreams. And the Hunter that would kill them...all of them painted in reds, blues and black.

Masterpieces for those who were of the macabre bent, the paintings depicted strange locations never seen before and the utterly horrific beings that existed in them; vile, tentacled monstrosities that were defied explanation. Seras was sad to see such budding artistic talent tainted by madness. But the theme was always the same, for standing in front of those monstrosities was the Moon Scented Hunter facing it down like a deranged hero of some obscure legend. All of it rendered in gruesome detail.

On the other side of the spectrum, Fina was training with Wilmarina Noscrim herself and that was something that greatly irritated Seras as it was an edict from Arthur. Why was all of this was happening to her daughters, that was a question that Seras asked herself constantly these days. Was Wilmarina being sent with as many warriors as possible on a hunt for the Moon Scented Hunter? A task that was doomed to fail, and only guaranteed the death of those involved?

"I can't even face Fina." Seras said, her voice a low growl. "Instead of staying here where it's safe, she's training up to fight the most dangerous opponent we will probably face. Not even the Order's heroes are as fierce as that-that _thing _that wears human skin."

To her credit, Runya Runya the Sleepy Magical Archive, did not shy away or rage at the threatening tone that Seras affected. The Baphomet reached out with her paw and held the vampire's hand with a soft expression. Her objective in all of this was not to find out the Hunter's weakness, it was a fundamental desire to know how the man functioned in this world of theirs.

And there was a serious amount of work to be done, of course. Runya had nothing but a description of his abilities. The capacity for slaughter scared her, for how could someone inflict so much pain and suffering to another creature without hesitation? Runya Runya was born long after the age of the former demon lords who ruled with pain and fear, and this man certainly acted like someone who came from that mythical, terrifying age.

She had already dismissed that theory with extreme prejudice: That the Hunter was a former Demon Lord reincarnated to walk the earth as a merciless slaughterer, it was easy to do so because Greilia had been able to reason with him, and if she hadn't well she would not be here any longer would she? That meant that he had a sense of honor, that he was willing to show mercy. The former lords of the monsters were killing machines true, but they were unreasonable. They acted purely on strength and will, hence why so many followed them into battle against the Order of Humanity.

Secondly, it was his nature. He had no mana to speak of, and that both intrigued and scared her. _All _creatures in this world had mana, some had a little and some a whole lot. That was the general rule...and yet here was someone who had no mana when they should. In the simplest terms, the Hunter shouldn't be alive. At all. Thirdly, Mamono were generally better at manipulating mana into spell-craft, and yet this Hunter had no trouble taking on mamono in single combat when any ordinary human with no spell-crafting talent should always lose to a monster.

Even veteran heroes should have been utterly crushed when they faced off against someone of Druella's caliber. Lillims were fundamentally at the top of the food chain in Royal Makai. The fact that someone who had no mana, no talent in magic, could lay Druella the Fourth Born low in single combat had caused ripples in the Sabbaths of Royal Makai. Shirokuto had frantically canceled almost all of her research and had pointed every resource she had into finding out about this anomaly, this freak of nature as some of the mamono here were prone to call him. Bapho-sama, the Overlord of Sabbath itself, was also requesting for research to be done. It was just fortunate that Momonika and Marune weren't involved. The poor girls would be even more disheartened at what had happened in Lescatie. As of now she and Greilia had agreed not to speak of what was happening in Lescatie.

She was still troubled with Kuroferuru, who took the incident with Druella as a personal slight on her honor. Oddly enough Ropurotto, the Sorcerous beast, had made herself scarce during these dark times...and none of her Sabbath knew what was going on with her.

"One man..." Seras's wistful tone shook Runya out of her thoughts. "That was all it took to cause chaos here. Sorry, Lady Runya I haven't exactly been able to relax since I have to deal with...you know." Her eyes looked up briefly at where Natsume was probably sleeping now. Her room was filled with paintings, so much so that Seras had to clean it up by putting them in another room. No way was she going to sleep with such imagery hanging around her.

She didn't take all of the paintings out though, the first and last time she did that Natsume had gotten violent it took Seras, Fina and Greilia who had been visiting three hours to calm the Kunoichi down and sedate her before there were worse injuries. That was the first time Seras had seen Fina cry, and the bitter memory hurt still.

"Does Natsume leave her room?" Runya asked head turned to the side, her eyes wide.

"No...why?" The two words were barely out of Seras's mouth when the vampire rocketed out of her chair as she saw the figure of Natsume sleepwalking. She was singing, no humming a tune to herself. Why was she…

Seras and Runya followed Natsume as she walked out of the door.

Seras shivered at the sound of Natsume's voice. They kept walking down an empty street, into the slums. Runya hadn't been here, hence why she was surprised that she saw Seras drawing the blade that never left her side.

There was a reason why the mamono avoided the slums of Lescatie. It was where the Hunter had slaughtered both Order and monster forces in his rampage to get out of the city. Nobody could reliably explain why it was considered bad luck to go wandering about in there. Some say that those slaughtered by the Hunter died in such pain that they didn't really leave this world whole, leaving only their pain and regrets to stay here for an eternity.

There were stories that you could hear screaming and moaning and sobbing at night here, seemingly from nowhere… As if the dead did not rest fully in their graves and their spirits were doomed to return to the place where they died. It was a nightmarish area to be in, especially if you were alone. Seras smelled the coppery tang of blood and swallowed the lump in her throat as she cast a spell. Light dismissed the shadows in their way but it was only a temporary thing. She caught sight of the purple hem of Natsume's kimono.

"Seras..." Runya whispered. "Why is it so cold?"

Seras didn't answer. It was cold.

The vampire stopped as they saw Natsume kneeling in the street. Runya gasped as she saw skeletons, bloody corpses that were soundlessly crying out in agony and then blinked as they were suddenly gone as if they weren't ever there. Why was she seeing things?

"M-Mother?" Natsume's eyes opened and she began to tremble. "Mother!? Where are you!?"

Seras approached her daughter, hugging her close as she began to sob.

"It's okay...It's okay Natsume..." Seras whispered as she lifted her daughter in her arms. "I'm going to bring you home."

"I...I can't go back...I can't go back..." Natsume sobbed. "They're waiting for me! An unsightly beast! A great terror looms!"

* * *

In the castle, where Order rulers had once decreed their laws, where the mightiest priests sat with the most venerable of generals the Fourth Born stirred in her bed. Her eyes snapped open, dilated, and she began to scream. Months of sleep and all she had seen...all she had seen was blood, so much blood that she had drowned in it.

She kept screaming as Greilia Little rammed the door down with a single blow to get to her charge.

She kept screaming as her father held her by the shoulders, desperately asking her what was wrong. Druella howled in anguish, she shoved her father back forcing Arthur to call for guards to hold her down. Even more rushed in as the hysterical Lilim smashed aside a succubus holding down one of her arms.

Meanwhile, far away from the Demon Realm of Lescatie...the Hunter stops briefly and turns his head to the sky with a frown, his dark eyes narrowing. A spine tingling chill had hit him. The sky was blue and clear, but the Hunter does not feel so reassured. His hands clench into fists but kept walking, keeping his eyes on the caravan that he was escorting.

Further still, in a Dream where flowers were white asphodels a Plain Doll who was the steward of her Dear Hunter's workshop looks up and ceases her ministrations to his grave. The old connection that once held them together grows slightly stronger. The Doll sighs as she stands up.

"Good Hunter." She says softly as she looks down at his grave. It had been so long since she had seen him. While it was true that he had long since left the Dream behind, it still reached out to him. Gehrman too rested in this place finally at peace.

Was it truly happening once more? Was another dreadful Night approaching? Would that herald the return of the Good Hunter to his duties? To take the mantle of his old mentor?

To guide humanity back to its senses before it was too late?

* * *

Sheffield.

One of the foremost territories of the up and coming Oberon League, the largest collective of neutral states on the continent. Its leaders were a collective, but it was not known whether they were men or monster of high repute. What was apparent was their wish for men and monster to coexist in peace, and the laws here were a reflection of that desire. No monster may take a man without his consent, and no man may harm a monster as an aggressor, that was the highest tenet the Oberon League upheld in all of its territories. Because of this tenet, the League was seen as an oddity and it was a wonder that the Order had not launched a crusade against the League and neither had the monsters.

As Cyril looked up at the high walls of the city that had the same name as the territory around it, he felt a sense of foreboding. But he made it into neutral territories at least, that meant no hostile encounters with monsters. No zealots wanting to recruit him into their ranks. Honestly, he had considered changing his plans. Perhaps...Perhaps he could stay here, he just had to find someplace peaceful and isolated.

"Well, Mister Tennstedt! We made it!"

Laurence approached with a boisterous smirk on his face. "Despite all of our misfortunes, we made it back to Sheffield!" He was glad to be back, judging from how light his movements were. Strangely enough...the Hunter was amused with the sight. It had been an eternity since he felt such amusement. And it honestly scared him because he had never felt like that before.

"Happy to be home?" Cyril asked the portly merchant.

"Yeah, yeah I am!" Laurence grinned. "And it's all thanks to my ever dependable bodyguard, Klaus Tennstedt."

Cyril inclined his head. It was just a job, why did he think that he was doing this for charity? The Hunter looked up at the gates briefly as the caravan passed through the checkpoint at the gate. Laurence spent a few minutes with the guards, sorting out paperwork. The merchant was familiar with the guards and the conversation was pleasant.

"Oi, Mister Laurence." One guard gestured at Cyril who waited patiently. "Where did you hire this guy? He looks mean."

Well, that was pretty rude. Cyril didn't rise to the bait however.

"His name's Klaus." Laurence introduced the stony faced mercenary. "And I wouldn't have returned from Order territory without him. He's real good with a blade, and I am not kidding. He took on a Wurm and an Ogre solo."

"Whoa..." One guard said, eyes wide underneath his helmet.

"Must be one hell of a swordsman." The other added, turning to Cyril. "Welcome to Sheffield, stranger. There isn't much for a monster slayer to do here but it's home enough for anyone looking for a fresh start."

Cyril would have to see it to believe it. Lescatie had been a mistake, but he couldn't dwell on that night anymore. There was a chance here to start fresh and he was going to take that chance. The Hunter exhaled. "Well...we'll see." He said to the guard. "But thank you for the welcome."

The guard smirked under her helmet. "You sound tired mate, you should head to the inn when you're ready." She told him. "It's called the _Prancing Pony_."

/

Not only was Sheffield the center of the Oberon League, it was also the center of trade in the region. Cyril had never seen such a sight like this. The market district was sprawling and filled with crowds of merchants advertising their wares to curious onlookers and buyers.

Men and monster living in harmony with each other. Sure, there were Order preachers here as well but judging from the way most couples, monster and human, ignored the old men it seemed that they had no sway over the morals of the populace. Most were more attentive to the town criers who were making announcements about taxes, new plays by the Sheffield Entertainment Company, and new products making their way to Sheffield not just from faraway Zipangu but that of the Mist Continent.

And, of course, he saw Succubi who were prancing around in highly revealing outfits. Succubi who belonged to brothels that were in the Red Light District. Cyril made a point of avoiding eye contact with them and continued meandering through the market, noting that this place also had an Adventurer's Guild. He guessed that it was a neutral faction as well, which would make sense. If the Order decided not to include the Guild in their territories then he supposed that the monsters would have an even bigger advantage in that conflict.

Too bad that he wasn't about to go by there, however. As far as Cyril knew, he was still registered under his real name with the Guild in Lescatie, which meant that the branch still had his information. He could be listed as dead but it was probably better to err on the side of caution. He made a note about finding more discreet work.

The Hunter sighed and adjusted his hood. The Prancing Pony. He had to see if the inn was worth its name in the meantime, he wasn't about ready to look for another job just yet. He could worry about that later.

/

As it turned out, lunch had just ended but Cyril wasn't so miffed about that, he was fine with whatever was left. The Hunter walked into a boisterous, but welcoming atmosphere. It was a two story place, Cyril just hoped that the rooms were clean.

"Don't be a stranger! Come on in!"

Cyril blinked and turned his head towards the voice. The bartender was an Elf, female. She had raven hair and bright green eyes. Her hair was kept away from her face by a cloth wrap but a few strands got through. The Hunter approached the bar at a slow pace, ignoring the stares. Hooded and cloaked, it was clear to the patrons that a foreigner had come into the place. It was a brief moment and then the atmosphere reverted back to its usual boisterousness.

Cyril sat at the bar and placed a handful of coin down. "A tankard of ale, and whatever food you have left please." He said, quietly.

"Of course. Unfortunately baked beans are all I have left." The Elf said to him, apologetically.

"That's fine." Cyril murmured already counting out more coin. "It was my fault for coming in late, anyway."

"A-Ah!?" The Elf looked at the stack of coin the Hunter had pushed towards her. "Th-That's w-way too much!"

"It's fine." Cyril said softly. "Again, you have to heat food up because I decided to come in late."

Hesitantly the Elf took the coin. There was a reason for her nervousness, however. "U-Um...are-are you a mercenary of sorts? What's your name?"

Cyril blinked underneath his hood. "I am Klaus Tennstedt." He said quietly. "I just got finished escorting a merchant here, but I'm trying to get some rest. Why?"

"Um...Mister Tennstedt I need your help," The Elf fidgeted. "It's because...someone's trying to...well…"

Cyril had a bad feeling about this. "Trying to what? What is this theoretical person trying to do?" He asked.

"Well, he's infatuated with me."

_Good grief. _Cyril sighed. "Do you want me to kill him?" He asked bluntly.

"E-Eh? W-What? No!" The Elf shook her head violently. "No! I just...need someone there when I tell him to go away! He's very stubborn."

Cyril crossed his arms.

"Fine, I'll help." Cyril said quietly. "And who am I going to be helping."

"Sierra. My name is Sierra Underhill." The Elf bowed her head. "I apologize but this man who believes himself to be my suitor has been making it hard for me to do work...and my friend Molly has guard duty at the gates this month so I..."

"It's fine." Cyril shrugged. "It's not the worst job I've taken."

"I-I also don't have much to give you." Sierra whispered in shame. "I-"

"You asked for help." Cyril told her. "Simple as that, and I can tell that whoever this person is he is really troubling you."

Sierra put her head down. Molly was so going to tease her for this.


	11. Chapter 11

11

The Job

_Sheffield, The Prancing Pony…_

Klaus Tennstedt was certainly the scariest man Sierra had ever met. The man did not smile much, or laugh. His face could have been made of granite for all she knew, but regardless he kept his word. Like right now, when he stood between her and one of the rowdier patrons of the bar. Klaus was having none of the guy's crap, Sierra watched as the patron tried to take a swing at Klaus only for the mercenary to duck the clumsy blow. Grabbing the man's outstretched arm, Klaus slammed his foot into the back of the man's knee causing him to go down on one knee. He then twisted the limb in his hands, causing the unruly thug to start screaming.

"Are you going to leave?" Klaus spoke with pitiless detachment, his expression never changing. His cold eyes stared right at his victim's. "Or am I going to have to break your arm?"

"I give! I give! I'll leave I swear!" The drunken lout screamed, feeling the bones of his left arm start to creak.

Klaus let the man go. "I see you here again," He said, his voice sibilant. "And I will _remove _your arm, instead of breaking it. Get out of here."

The drunk fled, and with that done the tavern returned to its usual boisterous atmosphere. Klaus Tennstedt resumed his usual place at the bar. Sierra let out a breath that she had been holding. Violence never really sat well with her but she was glad that no one had to go to the healers...or the guards. Molly would have gladly put the man into the ground but Klaus was more effective...in a more brutal sort of way. Father had once taught her that there were many types of pain in the world, the most obvious being the one that hurts. The other type of pain that wasn't as obvious but was just as devastating was the type that altered. The type of pain that changed a man utterly. The Elf continued her present tasks.

Klaus was staying on as a guard for a few months. He had said that he wanted to find some work but Sierra managed to convince the tavern owner to hire Klaus on as a guard of sorts. She didn't believe that it would work but it did. Klaus certainly seemed grateful, as he had a roof over his head for the time that he was here with her. Klaus had originally planned on heading to Zipangu, to start a new life after the tragedy at Lescatie.

Sierra hoped he found an opportunity here in Sheffield instead. She felt for the poor man, whenever he woke up early in the morning when she had just come in to work she'd catch a glimpse of the stony face he affected and watch as it fade away to a certain melancholy. He was...sad, but he didn't show it to anyone. As if he perceived it a weakness.

"Miss Sierra."

Klaus's cold voice shook her from her reverie.

"Ah, yes? Did you need something Klaus?" She asked.

"Are you alright? That man didn't seem to handle rejection too well." Klaus stated.

Sierra sighed. "Yes, I do get those kinds of people from time to time." She told him. "It's not that much of a big deal."

Klaus looked at her, his dark eyes piercing. Sierra felt her face heat up in embarrassment as she knew that she was blushing. "Didn't seem that way when you asked for my help." He remarked, not to offend but just an observation. "I did not really get any details about your other problem either."

"Ah! W-Well, he just comes around every few weeks or so. He claims that he is an aspiring tradesman." Sierra answered. "And he thinks that I can be a ticket to the higher social circles."

Klaus blinked. "Are you...a runaway noble?" He asked. Sierra blinked in surprise, wondering why he made that assertion.

"No." Sierra answered shaking her head. "A pretty face can get a lot of attention here, but I know better. Even the Entertainment Company doesn't snatch up girls on their looks alone. Succeeding based on your merit is important in this place."

"I see." Klaus said turning his head to the side. "Would this man happen to be the one who had just entered a few minutes ago then?"

Sierra's eyes widened as she beheld the portly man entering the bar with two of his cronies. "Sir" Ephraim Ludendorf, self proclaimed master of Ludendorf Company even if he was just the second son who would inherit a modest inheritance. Sierra sighed in disappointment as Ephraim noticed her. Ephraim was large, rotund and dressed in the most ostentatious clothing ever known in Sheffield. Ludendorf Company was a large, but unpopular, clothing company tailored for humans. It was obviously more human inclined, rumor had it that the company liked to barge in on monster sales and were highly supportive of the Order and its anti-mamono policies. Dangerous, but successful in any case.

Situated in the more affluent areas of the city of Sheffield, the Ludendorf Company headquarters also served as Ephraim's personal estate.

Sierra didn't know who she offended in a previous life to be the apple of Ephraim's eye but as she stared helplessly into Klaus Tennstedt's eyes...The man nodded once. Sierra let out an exhale.

/

"My dear Sierra! How have you been this fine evening?" Ephraim had a nasally tone. Sierra watched him twirl the end of his mustache. The two thugs flanked either side of him. "I must request that you end your shift for the night and come with me."

"No." Sierra said timidly. "I don't want to. I have to work today and tomorrow..."

"I must insist fair lady!" Ephraim said even as the thugs beside him advanced closer. "A flower such as yourself does not belong in a place like-"

A choking sound alerted Ephraim and alerted the now terrified Sierra Underwood to the young mercenary currently holding one of his thugs in a headlock. The man was choking, and was beginning to turn a dangerous shade of blue as the mercenary strangled the life out of him.

Already the tavern atmosphere soured and silenced as the patrons looked at the ensuing chaos. Some men gulped nervously as they beheld the mysterious foreigner that had been hired on as a guard. They thought him a passing fancy, or even a fraudster trying to get in between young Sierra Underwood's legs but the truth was always darker than they ever imagined. Tall, and sinister garbed in a gray coat, the mercenary was the very definition of the word dangerous. A rarity even in these times.

"And who might you be!?" Ephraim's face turned ruddy as the thug's struggling slowed until he was unconscious.

"Her guard." The mercenary answered Ephraim. He dropped the unconscious thug on the floor.

Ephraim's remaining guard shoved past the merchant, raising his fist. The mercenary put a stop to that horseshit with a swift punch to the throat. As the thug gasped for air, Ephraim backed off. "Y-You have no idea who you're messing with!"

The mercenary didn't care. "I think you should leave." He said quietly.

"You really think that I, Ephraim Ludendorf, will bow to the will of some foreign mercenary!?" The portly merchant growled.

"I really think you should leave, Mister Ephraim!" Sierra cried out. "Please! I have never been interested in your affections. Please leave! You've caused enough trouble!"

Ephraim snarled but the mercenary shoved him back a step. His neutral expression and horrifically cold eyes were disturbing. Even worse, he had a hand on the obvious sword that was hanging off his side. Ephraim spat in between the mercenary's boots.

"You'll regret this!" Ephraim shook his fist at the mercenary.

"You try something again..." The mercenary said in cold blood as his eyes narrowed. "And I will find your house and I will slit your throat."

It was a threat no one would have made against someone like Ephraim but Sierra Underwood knew he could, and would, do it. The raven haired elf trembled as Ephraim turned and stomped out of the tavern. Shaking, she started on wiping down the bar anything to distract her from what happened. She knew she was in trouble now, and as she gazed at her protector's back, she realized she may have unleashed something terrible upon Ephraim Ludendorf.

"Are you okay?" A quiet voice asked her.

Sierra looked up eyes wide at Klaus Tennstedt's stony expression, although there was no malice in his eyes. Just concern.

"I...I made a mistake. I should have gone with him. I'm going to cause you a lot of trouble." She whimpered.

"Did you want to go with him?" Klaus asked her.

"N-no..." Sierra trembled. "No I didn't want to. He was going to do something horrible to me, I felt that somehow."

"You had every right to refuse." Klaus said to her bluntly.

"Now he'll come back with even more thugs!" Sierra cried in frustration. "What am I supposed to do!?"

"Nothing." Klaus told her which shocked Sierra into silence. "They're my problem now."

"B-But..." Sierra whispered. "He'll hurt me."

Klaus looked at her neutrally. "No he won't." He said quietly. "Never again."

He then looked at her seriously. "Lock your door tonight. Do not leave the tavern whatsoever."

/

Cyril had no need for his sword this night. Not for this job. Sierra was right, the fat merchant was not going to take Klaus Tennstedt interfering with his chance to score some tail, whether the girl in question was willing or not. Cyril would have personally avoided doing something like this for someone he barely knew but Sierra Underwood, the Elf at the Tavern, did not deserve the fate of becoming someone's possession.

It honestly reminded Cyril of one of Arianna's stories, and how she ended up in Yharnam in the first place. Cyril unconsciously tightened his fists. He was not going to allow anything to happen this time.

Today, he was Klaus Tennstedt. Tonight, the Good Hunter is going to put the fear of gods into an arrogant man. The Hunter's eyes gleamed underneath his hat as he departed the inn, stepping into the shadows of the alley. He was looking for the Ludendorf Estates and it should not be too hard, judging from the way the merchants had mostly resided in the middle district of the city.

Cyril moved, a shadow within the shadows, with purpose. He still had a job to do, and honestly wondered why he was doing so. He could have let the girl get carted off for all he cared. The Hunter knew why of course, because of the tiny remnant of humanity he had left.

The Hunter made it to his destination, the Ludendorf Estates. He walked slowly, off to the side of the guard who rubbed his eyes and yawned. With the practiced ease of an assassin, Cyril grabbed the man in a headlock and dragged him inside the estate grounds, hiding behind the bushes cultivated by the gardeners. Cyril leaned in to whisper in the man's ears.

"Ephraim Ludendorf." He spoke quietly. "Where is he?"

"I-In his bedchambers. He-He's not taking any visitors-"

Cyril choked the man into unconsciousness. The Hunter moved on, unsheathing one of his small throwing knives. He continued his infiltration into the Ludendorf estate, by the way of the wine cellar. Cyril crouched behind a row of barrels, knife in hand as he surveyed his surroundings. It was dark but he dared not risk a light-

Torchlight. Cyril ducked, hearing a manservant grumbling about working so late. The Hunter moved away from the light, already seeing a way up into the estate proper. Excellent.

"Stupid Charles and his stupid scary stories about some loony hunter with a chip on his shoulder."

Cyril froze when he heard that. So his exploits had indeed reached Sheffield. He shook his head of the thought. He was pretty sure he was mad, but loony seemed to sound much more insulting. He easily moved undetected, avoiding the grumbling manservant like a shadow making his way into the estate. The longer Ephraim Ludendorf held his stubborn belief that he could do whatever he want to the person under Cyril's protection meant that she was always in danger.

So Cyril would show him just how wrong he would be if he decided to take this further. If he escalated anything after this night, Cyril would kill him. He should be grateful that it would be mercifully quick. Cyril moved through the halls of the estate, having only one wretched encounter. The maid who spotted him shook before Cyril wrapped an arm around her neck as well. Placing the unconscious maid out of his way Cyril at last found the office of his prey.

Ludendorf was busy signing papers, unconcerned until his door opened.

Ephraim stood up. "Who the hell is there?"

Cyril stepped in and the man paled at the sight of the tattered tricorne hat of the Good Hunter. Cyril closed the door and took the seat in front of Ephraim's desk. A candle was lit on the right hand side.

"Sit." Cyril said coldly. "Scream, and you will eat that candle."

"Y-You're that mercenary!" Ephraim whispered harshly. "How did you-"

"I want you to think about how I got in here without your guards noticing." Cyril told him quietly. "And how threatening me would work in your favor. I came here for one thing only. Leave Sierra Underwood alone."

The Hunter stabbed his knife into Ephraim's desk. "Escalate this any further, and I will come back at this time. And that will be your last night in this world." He said as he stood up and walked out of Ephraim's office.

The portly merchant sank into his seat, pale as a ghost. He looked at the small knife stabbed into his desk.

Perhaps he did need to leave that elf alone then…

/

Sierra Underwood went to work the next day, feeling that a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. As the Elf finished her preparations and headed down to the tavern to start getting it ready she noted that Mister Tennstedt was already there, putting a stool down. He then reached for the broom by his side and began sweeping.

The Elf's eyes met the mercenary's. Klaus gave her a nod in greeting. "Figured I should help you out." He said, in his usually neutral tone.

"Ah...well, um..." Sierra started. "N-Nothing happened last night. Did-Did you..."

"He won't trouble you anymore." Klaus said.

Sierra sighed in relief, holding a hand to her chest. "Thank you..." She whispered.

Klaus said nothing. Instead he continued his work, sweeping the floor before the morning rush came in. Once the sweeping was done, Sierra opened the doors and allowed the morning's guests to come in. Lumberjacks, miners, the blacksmiths, craftsmen. Monster and humans all, they entered the tavern to get some warm food, a drink or two, before heading out to start the day.

Business as usual.

* * *

_Demon Realm Lescatie…_

"Our target is the Moon Scented Hunter."

Fina clenched her fists as Wilmarina Noscrim conjured the image of said target onto a long scroll.

"We have been tasked to find him and, if feasible, bring him here for questioning." Wilmarina the Succubus looked to her team members. "I would advise restraint and extreme caution. He has shown to be more than capable of destroying us single-handedly."

"He was last spotted heading eastward, the Eyes of Makai gave me this report a few days ago so I assume he has gone into hiding." Wilmarina continued. She looked at Elt who squirmed uncomfortably. Fina knew why. Apart from the now missing Sasha Fullmoon, he, Wilmarina, Fina herself and Wilmarina had been the only ones who had encountered the target personally.

And he had helped Elt get out of a bad situation, he was uncomfortable with that.

"What do we do...when we find him, Lady Noscrim?" Elt asked.

Wilmarina smiled, trying to reassure him. "We will apprehend him, Elt. We do what we have to to help Lady Druella."

"...Here, here..." Ursula spoke softly. The Demon had been relieved of her command but she was still determined to atone for the role she had to play in Druella's dire condition. Fina could tell that the Demon was desperate to regain her honor, and was ready to die for it. Fina would have sneered at her had she the chance.

Fina didn't think it was going to be that simple. The Dhampir crossed her arms, of course she had a more personal stake in all of this. She didn't give a damn about Druella or Ursula at all. It was Natsume who needed curing, not the one who had decided to push the buttons of a dangerous murderer. She was not interested in helping Ursula regain her honor. She was here to help Natsume heal, that was the end of it.

At least she had three days to spend her time with Natsume. It had been a long period of training up and Fina knew her swordsmanship was nothing compared to the perfection that was Wilmarina Noscrim, she could hold her own among her party and she was damned proud of that fact.

Wilmarina Noscrim was the leader, a Knight turned Succubus. She was the former Hero of Lescatie and the scion of House Noscrim.

Ursula, Daughter of Clan Gamigin and the former master of the 4th Company. She was a Demon with considerable combat experience that would prove useful.

Elt was the talented, yet kindhearted, recruit from the Holy Knight's training company under the command of Merse Dascaros.

Primera Concerto, a half elf turned Werewolf, was their resident archer and tracker. Like Wilmarina she too was in love with Elt.

The magician of their group was the infamous Mimil Miltie, a famous student of the Magic School of Magitec, and a powerful Witch in her own right.

The last was her, Fina Brusilov. A Dhampir who was probably in over her head but had nothing else to lose. Because she had a sister that needed saving from herself. She had no loyalty to the Fourth, and she had said that right in her father's face.

How she had not been tossed from the castle walls was beyond her but Fina didn't focus on that anymore.

/

She got home late. Fina opened the door to her house, already smelling dinner being cooked. Seras stopped stirring the pot and looked at her. The vampire looked horrible. Fina was guilty about that, mother wasn't sleeping or eating properly and she had to deal with Natsume alone.

"You're home." Seras said dully. But she smiled when Fina embraced her.

"How is Natsume?" Fina asked, her voice brittle.

"She painted again." Seras whispered. "You can go see her, I think she was finishing up."

Fina didn't hesitate as she walked up the stairs. There, she saw Natsume's door was open. The Kunoichi had finished her latest painting. Fina could feel an undercurrent in the room as she looked at all of the paintings. Natsume truly had blossomed a budding talent, and yet Fina was disgusted with the subject matter.

There, to the left, she saw the inside of a clock tower. The woman sitting in the chair in the middle of the chamber was surely dead. Her throat had been slit.

Another painting depicted a horrific beast, this one a horse like entity and yet there was no madness in its eyes as it held a glowing sword in its hand.

Still another was that of the Moon Scented Hunter himself, standing tall against a gigantic, wolf like horned beast. He was holding that demented weapon in one hand.

All of them seemed almost real, painted in reds and blues and blacks. Fina swore she could see some of them moving…

Fina blinked. She rubbed her head to ward off a forming headache.

"Is that you, Fina?" Natsume said still facing away from the Dhampir.

"Yes. We are departing in three days." Fina answered.

"I see." Natsume turned around. She had indeed shrunk in on herself. Fina walked over and embraced her sister tight.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you." Fina whispered. "I'm sorry this happened to you. I won't let anything else hurt you. I'll find a way to help you, I promise."

Natsume returned the embrace. "Come home alive." She said softly.

They heard something bang against a wall. Natsume flinched and began to tremble as Fina looked outside. She rushed downstairs, a hand on the hilt of her sword as she entered the first floor.

"Oh!"

It was the Elder Banshee. Seras was sheepishly fixing the chair she knocked over. The Banshee was sitting at the middle of the table. Her bright blue eyes twinkled with amusement as she beheld Fina awkwardly removing her hand from the sword hilt.

"Greetings." The Banshee said. "You know why I am here?"

"Not exactly." Seras muttered. "Especially when you decided to walk through my bloody kitchen wall."

"Come now, I merely wish to bid good fortune to your daughter." The Elder tittered. "I am watching her with great interest."

"Great." Fina stammered. "I suppose another prophecy is in order then?"

The Elder Banshee smiled. "Be warned. You and your party will not be the only ones moving against the Moon Scented Hunter." She said. "Once you meet him, you will have to make an important choice. For if you do not...I believe that will be the end of your journey."

"Let me guess." Fina's tone was firm. "We all die."

The Elder Banshee's smile grew wider. "Such talent with divination." She leaned back in her chair. "I hear many things on the wind...You may encounter another servant of the gods..."

"Wonderful." Fina commented. "Well...who is it."

"A Valkyrie."

"Fuck." Fina swore.

"Fina!" Seras looked at the Dhampir aghast.

Valkyries. Servants of the Chief God herself, there to guide a mortal into becoming a Hero humanity needed them to be. Well, if there was something else she was expecting to go wrong at least she knew what it was.


	12. Chapter 12

12

Valkyrie

Cyril finished sweeping. The Hunter exhaled, having decided to once again help Sierra get the tavern back in order while the day was slow. There was a good reason for it, it was raining hard out there. It was cold too. Nobody wanted to get caught out in the open like that, but he was going to have to walk into that storm. The tavern owner, a surly dwarf by the name of Emil Gold-Gatherer, muttered about not having enough ingredients for the kitchen. There was enough for one full day but that was it.

Sierra was about to go when Cyril volunteered to accompany her. He was just waiting on her to get ready. Such was his job now, having been offered a permanent place at the Prancing Pony. Cyril didn't exactly get to hammer out what exactly his role was but Emil said that he was "a guard and a cleaner." Emil didn't care which. Especially with the rumors as to how he handled a big time merchant like Ephraim Ludendorf. Emil hated the man, seeing as he not only bothered Sierra but also some other female clientele of Emil's, costing him some business in Sheffield.

Cyril suspected that there was some other reason that involved money, maybe that or he underestimated just how unpleasant the man truly was. Perhaps, Cyril should have just killed Ephraim Ludendorf. The Hunter would not be surprised if the whole city erupted into celebration at the time of his death. What surprised him even more was the mutual respect Sierra and Emil held for each other. Usually an Elf or a Dwarf would be at each other's throats by now, as dictated by the Monster Girl Encyclopedia. When he asked the both of them about it, Emil made it clear that it _does _happen and that they were a rarity. He also warned Cyril about mentioning elves around other dwarves, as it is a good way to get into a brawl. The same went with the opposite.

"If you're looking to die with an arrow in your throat, mention dwarves to an elf." Was what Emil had told him. "So be careful, lad."

Cyril took that advice to heart. An arrow to the throat was not a good way to go, and this was coming from a Hunter who had faced death in every waking moment.

Sierra owed Emil for sheltering her in Sheffield, apparently. Cyril didn't press the young elf on what happened in her past. She respected him enough not to ask why he left Lescatie so he offered her the same respect in that regard. Still, his deception regarding who he truly was rankled. Even if she accepted what happened to him anyway, Cyril refused to tell her the truth of who he was.

"Mister Tennstedt?"

Cyril saw that Sierra was waiting for him to be ready, wearing a long brown cloak with a hood to help keep out the water over her usual work clothes. Cyril had his own hood over his head. His Hunter's attire was more than enough to deal with the rain and it didn't bother him anyway.

"Shall we?" He asked her.

/

The rain had lessened somewhat but it was still a downpour. Sierra kept pace with the mercenary as Klaus led them towards the market to get a delivery order started for the ingredients needed at the Prancing Pony. Like always, Klaus was her escort and the usual pickpockets who targeted people in the market kept clear of the stony faced mercenary. And for good reason.

Sierra had seen the result of those thieves being too brave. They had left a man huddled into a ball on the ground. The thief had threatened Sierra for her coin purse. Klaus responded by putting the man out of action with a swift kick to the testicles.

Since that incident they had been left alone, and the thief had been picked up by amused guards a few minutes later.

"Mister Tennstedt? Are you alright?" Sierra asked. Both of them were waiting for the storekeeper to come back with confirmation of their order.

Klaus was looking outside at the rain, but he eyed all of the food regardless. Monsters and men weren't very different when it came to food it seemed. Sierra saw some vegetables that she wanted to buy but she didn't have that time. She really didn't want to annoy her protector by taking her time shopping, but truth be told she was enjoying herself. Secretly, she would certainly not admit this to anyone else, she hoped that her protector would enjoy her company as well.

"I'm fine, Miss Sierra." Klaus answered. He kept looking outside. "Just...thinking."

"I-If you'd like, you can return to the tavern." Sierra offered. "You don't have to stay with me the whole time."

Klaus shook his head. "No...it's fine." He said. "Truth be told, it's been a while since I did something so...mundane." He let out a small chuckle.

Sierra smiled inwardly. So he could show emotions...What a strange human Klaus Tennstedt was. "Mundane?"

"I find comfort in simple physical labor. Strange I know, it was very recently that I found this out." Klaus explained as Sierra stood with him to look outside, where a Lamia slithered quickly down the wet street holding a cloak over her head. On the opposite side of the street, a young minor noble held an umbrella up sheltering a Kikimora. She was both his maid and his wife, judging from the ring Sierra saw on her finger. She was also pregnant, judging from the way she held her gravid belly.

"It must be tough...Being a mercenary." Sierra stated carefully. "You're always in danger right?"

"Indeed." Klaus said hearing someone clear their throat. The unlikely pair of Hunter and Elf turned around. The shopkeeper, a large Holstaurus, smiled politely.

"Well, the Prancing Pony can expect a delivery within a few hours." The Holstaur shopkeeper said. "Is there anything else you both need?"

"Um...No. Thank you." Sierra bowed her head. "I will make sure to tell Master Emil that the order is complete."

"Our business is concluded then." The Holstaurus bowed in the same way. She smiled brightly. "Have a nice day! And do keep dry!"

Klaus bowed, a hand on his chest. He then opened the door for Sierra and the pair went out.

"So...what's next?" Klaus asked.

"Um...the carpenter's." Sierra answered.

"Ah, the leak." Klaus noted. "I was sure that that would require attention sooner or later. I wonder why Emil didn't want me working on it..."

Sierra smiled gently. "With the firewood being done alongside the sweeping and cleaning, I think he's feeling shameful about you doing so much for the tavern." She said to him.

Klaus shrugged at that. "I strive to do my utmost every day I am working." He told her.

Sierra giggled.

* * *

The way to the carpenter's was quiet for a time, and the rain had turned into a lesser drizzle by the time they were close. Sierra stopped just as Cyril did. The Hunter held out his arm to arrest her forward motion when he heard the yelling.

"Oh no..." Sierra whispered.

Cyril wasn't as concerned but he did know the sound of an angry mob.

Men in brown robes were shouting and screaming at a monster-human couple. Cyril narrowed his eyes. The man was stockily built and was holding a hammer in one hand but even he would not do anything against a crowd of men wielding clubs. He was defending a Holstaurus, evidently his companion in work and his life.

There were two guards as well, their spears pointed at the crowd. It seemed that there was about to be a riot going on. The Hunter exhaled with some form of finality. He had not expected that he would be dealing with the Order in a place like Sheffield.

So be it.

"Sierra, hide." He said softly.

"What are you going to do?" She asked. "That's Johannes the carpenter, and those are all...Order fanatics."

"So they are." Cyril answered. "And I am sure that the crowd isn't asking your carpenter out for a nice theological chat."

"Klaus, don't! You'll get hurt!"

Cyril turned from Sierra Underwood, the steel sword hanging from his hip already in his hand. The Hunter moved calmly towards the violence as a brown robed rioter struck one of the guards in the helmet with his club. As the zealots began to shout praises to their chief god and crowd around their intended targets, the Good Hunter was on the first man he saw. When the zealot aimed a shot at the downed guard's face with his weapon he was suddenly aware of the club, and his arm, flying through the air.

The zealot let out a bloodcurdling scream of pain and shock. The Hunter pointed his sword at the crowd which shrank back as they saw blood oozing from the stump of the zealot's arm which was lying in the street. The crowd was shocked at the sudden violence against those who followed the Order. The bleeding wretch had fallen on his behind as he screamed and screamed, begging for someone to help him. Cyril had never felt so utterly disgusted.

"Leave." Cyril said his voice sibilant and cold. "Or I hack off a head instead of an arm."

"You heretic!" An old man shoved forward. Bald and fat he waved a book around menacingly. "You defend monsters from justice! The Chief God does not smile upon you, sinner! You will repent-AH!"

The Hunter's sword licked out and opened a large gash in the fat zealot's face. Bleeding profusely the man screamed as he stepped back into the shelter of his fellows, holding his wound and pointing at Cyril's sword, babbling in anger. Cyril didn't lower his sword, standing between the crowd and the guards, not to mention the carpenter and his monster wife. Everyone's eyes were on the newcomer, who wielded a simple sword and yet there was no doubt that he was more than capable of slaughtering everyone on the street with a weapon.

The Hunter was more than prepared to send more than a few souls to hell this day, of that he was sure of.

"You have spoken your peace." Cyril told the crowd of zealots. "Leave before someone has to die."

The zealots left quickly, bringing their wounded with them.

"Mister Johannes! Miss Livia!" Sierra quickly rushed to the couple. "Are you okay!?"

Cyril waited for the zealots to disperse. While Sierra checked on their carpenter, Cyril was a bit more concerned about the guards. He guessed that it would pay dividends if he was seen doing his best to aid the town watch. He sheathed his blade, eyes still in the direction where the zealous crowd fled. He had a feeling he'd see more of them sometime soon.

"Thank you, stranger." The older guard said while he checked on his younger companion. The boy was groaning, his helmet dinged. Cyril aided the older guard in removing the helmet so they could check on his injury.

"What...What hit me?" The victim asked, sounding groggy. The young man had a trickle of blood flowing down his face. Cyril winced at that.

"A club." The older guard told the rookie. "And you now have a concussion. We should get back to the barracks before-"

"Oy! You there!"

A squad of guardsmen approached, armed and armored this time. Spears were leveled at the Good Hunter who raised one hand in a placating gesture. He did not sheathe his blade, not because he was ready for a fight but because of the sudden hostility of the reinforcing guards.

"Damn it, sergeant!" The older guard stood up. "Take it easy! If this guy hadn't been here there would be three dead!"

"Wait..." One of the guards approached. "Hey, you're that mercenary from before!"

Cyril was most surprised to find a familiar face among the guards. Today was starting to be more of a bother than anything else.

/

"Small world ain't it, stranger?"

Sierra frowned at Molly who was grinning at their apparently mutual acquaintance. She was clearly not jealous, no she was not. She just felt that Molly was a little bit too forward, and that she was bothering Klaus.

And to reiterate, Sierra Underwood was not jealous of how forward her friend's attitude was towards her acquaintance.

To his credit, Klaus Tennstedt did not react in the slightest to Molly's forward displays. The mercenary only responded with a shrug.

Molly took it all in stride however as she saw that Sierra was getting a little antsy. "Okay, well you're a bit of a spoilsport but..." At this her smile and attitude turned genuinely grateful. "Thanks...for helping Sierra by the way. She's a good soul and people like Ludendorf..."

She frowned suddenly causing Sierra to fret. "What happened to the fat bastard anyway?"

"I told him that I would cut his throat if he approached Sierra again." Klaus said simply. "I figured that if he was a smart man, he would heed that warning."

"You're very serious aren't you?" Molly grinned this time. "Damn...Tall, dark, handsome and mysterious. Here I am thinking you couldn't be any more attractive!"

"M-Molly!" Sierra stammered. "D-Don't bother Mister Tennstedt so much! He is a bit too busy to deal with your joking right now!"

"Oh, I'm just having a bit of fun, Sierra! No need to be such a prude!" Molly waved the elf off.

Klaus looked down the street. "Say, Miss Molly..." He started.

"Uh, yeah?" Molly asked.

"Those Order zealots, I thought such things were frowned upon in this city?"

When Klaus put that question out Sierra looked down at her feet while Molly scratched her cheek. "That's a real complicated question mate, but know this. We've had a particularly rough time with that set of loonies."

Klaus exhaled, looking resigned. There was a look in his eye that Sierra was not liking at all. It was as if the man knew it was his fate to clash with the Order and that upset her.

"I see." Klaus said after a long pause that made the both of them uncomfortable. Sierra hoped he wasn't planning on doing something reckless. She was not about to allow Klaus to put himself in danger. In any case, she would have to tell Emil that the leak would not be repaired today. Sierra would tell him the truth, that a bunch of Order zealots had attacked their resident carpenter and that they were recuperating. It was unfortunate but Sierra was going to ask Mister Klaus to do it in the carpenter's stead when the rain let up.

She was sure Klaus wouldn't mind.

* * *

Humanity was wayward and it often falls to the truly divine to guide their hands.

And yet Jophiel, Watchman of the Chief God, shook her head as she listened to the inane prattling of the so-called Father Zachariah who accused her target of being a monster sympathizer. Father Zachariah was a foolish man if he believed that Jophiel would move according to the "priest's" will alone.

The Valkyrie kept her mien hidden underneath a hood but those of the Order faith would know an angel when they saw one. And what celebrations they had! They would cleanse cursed Sheffield of the monster taint, and one day all of humanity would be a stronghold against the Dark!

Zealots. Jophiel needed level headed crusaders, not these fire and brimstone preachers who thought cruelty to heathens was the quickest way to heaven. They liked to talk the talk but reality often proved these types of men and women to be craven worms in the end. Cherry picking their favorite parts from the holy books, following tenets only when it suited them… Jophiel could list more sins but such was her disgust with this lot that she had barely resisted vaporizing the whole lot in holy white fire.

Jophiel had no doubt that the Order was dying. It was blasphemous for her to harbor such thoughts but the truth had a way of clarifying things for her. The Order of the Chief God was dying but that did not mean that the divinities who supported Her would leave mankind to stand against the storm alone. Jophiel was one such angel designed for such purpose. She was less combat oriented than most of her other sisters within the Authorities Choir, but she was an able agent regardless.

This...Hunter was someone of great importance. Jophiel had been ordered to shadow the man ever since the debacle in Lescatie, and she had done so at a distance. Mortals were able to perceive an angel but only when they willed it. Monsters could see through their little disguises however and Jophiel had no doubt that a Lilim could bring her down with one shot.

Which made her target, the Hunter, all the more interesting. Because he had taken on the Monster Lord's daughter on his own and not only survived but he also proved victorious. Jophiel had thought he was inimical to monsters alone but that had changed when this merry band of zealous idiots encountered him in the streets today.

Jophiel knew a killer when she saw one. Sister Camael would have approved had she seen the way he handled the crowd, first by lopping a man's arm off and then opening Father Zachariah's face like a well cooked ham.

Valkyries were supposed to be guiding those potential humans to become the heroes mankind needed them to be. This Hunter did not need such guidance and yet he did not use his power for the good of the Chief God or the world that all of humanity held dear. He used his power to keep the world away. There was no doubt that he was quite possibly the oddest target she had had the honor of being assigned to.

If only she knew just how wrong her perceptions was.

If only she knew what the Good Hunter was capable of…


	13. Chapter 13

13

Union Festival

Cyril wiped his brow as he finished with repairing the bar stool. He put away the tools Mister Emil gave him and set the stool aside. The ruffian responsible was at the healer's tent after Cyril broke his arms. The Hunter was forced to intervene when the man kept bothering Emil Gold-Gather over gold owed and who was going to pay for it.

The Good Hunter did give the penny pincher three warnings, as courtesy demanded. The penny pincher shoved Cyril once and that was the beginning of the one sided fight which ended up with several men in the healer's care. Two had broken arms, including the penny pincher himself. The rest were nursing several injuries of moderate severity, one of which was a dislocated jaw.

Cyril checked his handiwork and let out a pleased hum. Perhaps he should pursue carpentry instead of farming? It seemed to be just as honest, and he found himself enjoying it. The Hunter sighed and put away his tools. As he walked through the inn, several men looked away uncomfortably. It seemed that seeing even ordinary tools in the hands of Klaus Tennstedt made people uneasy. Cyril put that out of his mind.

Well, that was another repair down…Cyril saw that he had already finished his work. Just in time too, there were people standing in the bar and the stools were really needed out there for people to sit on.

The Hunter placed the tools back where they belonged and got ready to head out to get more work done before taking up his shift as a guard for the Prancing Pony. He was not about to grow soft and allow troublemakers into the Pony. If they thought otherwise, those drunkards would have another thing coming.

"Oy, Tennstedt."

Emil Gold-Gather was over a hundred and fifty years old. With a thick red mane of hair and a positively impressive beard, the dwarf was a stocky and short figure. He crossed his muscular arms, a former resident of one of many dwarven holds near Sheffield. The dwarves never really interacted with the other kingdoms, and while the Order tolerated other non-humans their reputation for faltering against the Demon Lord's armies made them wary of being caught up in the wars between both factions.

Hence why Sheffield had taken advantage of the world's situation at large and made overtures to those holds that were willing to still communicate. Cyril personally thought it was a rather devious solution, as dwarvish technology and weaponry were known to be of solid make. The sword Cyril had bought to augment his arsenal was of such forging. The dwarven metal made it solid and just as nigh unbreakable as his Saw Cleaver, a worthy addition as it had helped him slay an Ogre and a Wurm.

Cyril had made sure to hide his weaponry away from prying eyes, but he had no doubt that Gold-Gather would have wanted dearly to have a look at the Holy Moonlight Sword.

"Yes, Master Gold-Gather?" Cyril wiped his hands. "I have just finished repairing those bar stools of yours."

"Aye, lad." The dwarf smiled. "You've done much for the Pony, and for the little elf that does her all at the bar."

The irony of the dwarf calling the elf he took under his wing little was palpable. Cyril smiled. "What do you need from me Master?" He asked.

"Master? I'm not so formal lad. Just wanted to pass a message from Sierra. She's looking for you."

Cyril blinked at that a bit confused. "What for?" He asked the dwarf who shrugged in response.

"Don't know, you might want to go talk to the lass. She seemed excited about something."

Cyril sighed, knowing where this was going. But maybe...maybe it wouldn't hurt to just let himself be human for the time being. There certainly did seem to be something going on in Sheffield this day, or at least the preparation of something going on. Maybe he should ask about it.

/

"Festival?"

Sierra beamed at Klaus as he finished sweeping the floor while she worked on washing the tankards of ale used today. "Yes, the Union Festival celebrating both men and monsters who worked to build the city itself. A full week of merriment. Emil and I go for all of the food and drink."

She blushed. "M-Maybe we can all go?" She asked Klaus hopefully. She had no malicious intentions, heavens no! All she wanted was to spend time with people dear to her; Emil who was like a father to her…

And Klaus...the mysterious mercenary she was trying hard not to fall for.

"Sounds interesting." Klaus said distantly. "When is the festival anyway? I think I'll come along."

Sierra gasped a little. Did he just say yes? Her ears were surely not deceiving her right? She was not having a hallucination?

"Miss Sierra?"

The raven haired elf shook herself out of her reverie. Klaus frowned, worried that something happened to her. Sierra cleared her throat, cheeks bright red and quite embarrassed as her long ears twitched. Inside, she was barely fighting off the temptation to squeal.

"Miss Sierra? Are you okay?" Klaus asked her.

Sierra held her face in her hands as she shook her head, cleared her throat once more and beamed at him. "Why...yes, Mister Tennstedt." She answered sweetly. "Do I look so ill in your eyes?"

"...You're beet red." Klaus commented, brow raised.

"A minor thing, I assure you." Sierra tittered. "I...should get all of these dishes back to where they belong. Excuse me!"

/

Cyril watched Sierra go upstairs, leaving said dishes in the exact same spot they were occupying. The mercenary shrugged and continued sweeping the floor. She'll be back. But he knew her intentions, and he felt ashamed that he continued to lie to her this way, he did not want to lead her around like this only to break her heart if she ever found out just what he did in Lescatie.

He was too selfish. He was still living this beautiful lie, that he could someday stay here in Sheffield away from the madness of the Waking World. That he could move on from Yharnam. Cyril closed his eyes briefly, in pain, before he continued sweeping. The Hunter exhaled through his nose. He made his decision.

Even if it was a lie. Even if it was all for naught, he would protect this place. Cyril Sutherland would do this as penance to the people he failed. The Hunter finished his sweeping, and leaned the broom against the wall. He had to walk, get a clear head. Otherwise he would feel worse this week during his shifts before Emil closed the Pony for the festivities.

He heard a faint squeal coming from the stairs, and the Hunter quietly shook his head and smiled.

Someone seemed very happy that he was attending a festival, and that thought made him want to laugh. The Good Hunter attending a festival? He wished Evetta was here, he could have brought her here to make a new life for herself away from the Dream.

His thoughts turned to a small dream he had, a little house next to Gehrman's old workshop which was now his planted next to a field of white asphodels...It was a beautiful picture, a place where he could forever stow away his blades and gun to live the rest of his life in peace. But it was a distant dream, he knew that.

Cyril stepped out of the inn after informing Emil of what he was doing. Perhaps a small stroll through the market would do him good. His steps utterly silent, he meandered through the crowd keeping his hood up. Even then, some recognized him as the odd guard who worked at the Prancing Pony and politely kept their distance. There were guardsmen who looked at him with some respect however.

Two of their own had been attacked by a zealous crowd of Order fanatics, and Cyril had chosen to help them out. The Hunter had heard the stories about him but he did return greetings with a nod. The Hunter moved through the market, eyeing all of the goods on sale. He had made enough that he could purchase something although Cyril wasn't exactly loose with his money. He was still saving up enough to buy a small lot of land to start building a house.

The Hunter closed his gray coat about him. It was a breezy, sunny day with few clouds in the sky. Cyril exhaled as he continued walking, particularly interested in seeing if Sheffield had firearms for sale. Although he had no reason to replace his reliable pistol yet, Cyril had an appreciation for firearms ever since the Night of the Hunt.

The pistol he carried had saved him more times than he could count.

He entered the smithy.

/

"Well, now. It's a small world after all."

Cyril shook his head briefly as a Cyclops greeted him, standing behind the stall.

"Miss Thomasin." Cyril lowered his head in a bow. "I thought you lived in Marienburg?"

The cyclops grinned at him as she leaned on the table. "Nah, I had business in Marienburg before I came back to manage this shop for a little bit as a favor for a friend. I got another shop over in Ultramarine over east."

Thomasin the cyclops winked at him with her single eye. Cyril did not know how she managed it. "So, you finally made it to Sheffield, Mister Tennstedt. How do you like it so far?"

Cyril thought about it. His work in the Prancing Pony wasn't that bad, no monsters had tried to drag him off, and he hadn't killed anyone in weeks. "It's a good place." He said softly. "I was originally heading to Zipangu to get away but...I..."

"I like it here." Cyril said after a pause, surprised that he wasn't being duplicitous for once. "I think I could live here if I had the gold to be honest."

Thomasin smiled toothily. "We're real neighborly right?" She asked him. "Told ya." The Cyclops stood up from her stall. "I heard some things about the Prancing Pony, say it has a guard. Knew it was you but I was a bit busy with the shop so I couldn't drop in to say hi to her."

She grinned at him. "You did well to stand up for Sierra."

Cyril blinked. "It seems that Miss Sierra is fairly popular here." He observed.

"Aye, a wholesome lass like her is the reason why the Pony's a popular inn..." Thomasin said. "She's a nice lass, gives me free drinks when she can sneak it in. Thanks for helping her out, I worry about her and Molly, who is my childhood friend by the by."

"You know a lot of people." Cyril said his tone relaxed.

"Yup. Like I said, small world this is." Thomasin replied with a chuckle. "So don't be a stranger, you hear? Mama Thomasin will help you out and I do hope to see ya at the festival."

Cyril gave her a nod and said farewell. He really needed to get back to the inn before his break ended. There was still a lot of work to do and it needed to be done before closing time. Emil Goldgather wanted the inn in tip top shape and he'd be damned if this Union Festival began with a messy bar and an even messier tavern!

The dwarf may have been grateful for Cyril deciding to do work that he honestly wasn't supposed to but he only hired the best employees he could get for his small tavern. Cyril pulled up his hood further and headed back to the Prancing Pony.

Thomasin watched him go. She smiled to herself; when she had first met the young mercenary there was no light in the poor man's eyes. Now…? He seemed happier here. The Cyclops lived a long life and she encountered many different warriors. Many were fierce and proud, arrogant even. Others were like poor mister Klaus Tennstedt, lost and broken and sad.

"I hope you find peace here, lad." Thomasin commented wistfully. "You look like you need a lot of it."

* * *

_En route to Sheffield..._

Elton Dragmire started the fire for the camp silently, keeping his thoughts to himself. Shaking his red hair out of his eyes, the former Order Soldier glanced around him cautiously. Seeing as he was the only male in a camp full of mamono was often dangerous for the man he used to be.

An Incubus. That was what he was now, thanks to the Demon Energy that permeated Lescatie. His home, which had turned into a realm of demons. The transformation was different for everyone, according to Doctor Little. Some were quick to turn and others were slow like him. Elt felt stronger sure, and even closer to the women that he fancied. Wilamrina most of all. He had learned all his life that the moment a monster took a man for her own, that he would lose all sense of self.

The good Doctor Little had told him that there was a nugget of truth to the Order's teachings, but he was among the many rare cases who kept a lot of themselves intact. Doctor Little was the one who examined him, and she had certainly seen a lot of bad cases before. Elt didn't know what to believe any more but the Doctor did not lie that he was in a good place right now, and told him to report anything unusual. The young soldier laughed to himself; he liked to think that he had risen out of a dark place in his life. His thoughts soured as they turned to why he was here with Wilmarina, Mimil and Primera.

The Moon Scented Hunter. One of the deadliest killers to have ever walked this world of hers. Responsible for a massacre during the Sacking of Lescatie. The mad slaughterer who fought and won against Druella, Fourth born of the Monster Overlord herself, in single combat. Someone who had saved his life in Lescatie from a despicable noble and his cronies.

Elt didn't know the man personally but Sasha, the owner of the orphanage who was like his big sister, had vouched for him. She had called him a troubled and lonely soul.

"El?"

Elt jumped a bit but he smiled sheepishly at Wilmarina who put a slender hand on his shoulder. She was more beautiful than he had ever remembered her being. While her new outfit was more...revealing when they had reunited for the first time in many, many years this time she chose to wear the usual ensemble she donned when she fought for the Order's banner.

Elt himself wore light leather armor, his armament consisted of a long spear and sword. He was a solid recruit but now he was a soldier of the demon realm Lescatie.

"Thinking again?" Wilmarina asked.

"Just...wondering where Sasha is." Elt answered as he sat back to admire the crackling fire he made. "And...well." He glanced in the direction where Ursula leaned against a tree, observing the Dhampir Fina swing her sword against an imaginary opponent.

Wilmarina looked over in the direction she was staring at and sighed.

The animosity between Ursula and Fina Brusilov could not be any more obvious. Although Fina avoided Ursula like the plague it was clear that Fina blamed the former company master for her sister's affliction. The air was charged around the Dhampir, whose blade whistled in the night air like a silver ghost.

Wilmarina honestly liked her form, a mixture of both western ferocity and eastern skill from Zipangu. Fina's mother, Seras, was said to have been apprenticed to one of Ursula's famous relatives. A swordmaster without compare. Wilmarina could see that Fina would become a good sword fighter someday…

The Hero stood up and dusted her skirt off. Regardless, Fina had a more personal stake in this mission and she was the party's healer. She didn't need any distractions. That and she had been one of the few who had encountered the Moon Scented Hunter personally. Ursula was the one who commanded him to be found, and everyone knew what happened when that command had been followed. Wilmarina certainly was not one of the people who blamed her for what happened, things had just spiraled out of control.

Wilmarina was grateful that Ursula was not so resentful of her position in this party, but the conflict between her and Fina was nonetheless troubling.

She had to set things right. That was all there is to it, hence why she had volunteered to face the Good Hunter.

He must pay for his crimes against the Monster Lord.

"You're a good swordsman." Wilmarina commented as Fina finished her routine, sheathing her blade slowly.

"My mother taught me well." Fina said. "She had me take it up before I met Natsume." Her tone was distant. The Dhampir shook a lock of raven hair out of her eyes. They were a clear hard blue, Wilamrina had only met the cantankerous Seras Brusilov once. It seemed Fina was less like her mother, even if she acquired some of her looks.

"I can see that." Wilmarina nodded her head. "You seem to be-"

"Is there something you need, Hero?" Fina turned around to regard Wilmarina flatly. "Because you're not the only one who's been staring at me for the past forty five minutes today, I have to deal with that blue skinned piece of excrement for a week now; we haven't even arrived at our destination and the idea of slitting her throat while she sleeps has been on my mind lately."

Wilmarina kept up a calm facade as she endured Fina's ire. Ursula had wisely stepped out of the way. The Hero felt Primera and Mimil staring at the impending argument as well, having just returned from hunting duty. Elt had stopped tending to the fire and stood up, a mite bit concerned about the incoming argument. He looked like he was contemplating on whether he had to step in or not.

Bless him for trying, but Wilmarina was going to have to deal with this herself. She could not afford to have members of her party at each other's throats. That would just make it easier for the Hunter to kill them all piece by piece. Of course, she mused grimly, he could end them all anyway in an outright assault if he caught their scent.

"I understand that you have your own reasons for being here." Wilmarina said carefully. "And that...that you are under a lot of pressure right now. But we need to stick together."

"Right, yes...while we are after a madman with a penchant for butchering people who come after him. Sure, captain. I'll play along."

Fina marched off into the woods, furiously. Wilmarina sighed.

"That went well." Primera commented. The Half-Elf Werewolf scratched at her ear with one of her paws. "Should I keep an eye on her?"

"Let her vent." Wilmarina said, sighing again. "Her sister...she's not well."

"Ah...I see." Primera was sometimes a bit prickly and grouchy but she understood when someone needed space.

"She doesn't have to take it out on you, though." Mimil pouted. "I hope she doesn't say anything bad to big brother…"

"She won't, Mimil." Wilmarina said, ruefully. "She's just...having a hard time right now."

"I'll wait for her." Ursula spoke up surprising all three of them. The Demon kept her cloak closed as she took up a position. "If that's okay…?"

"Yes." Wilmarina nodded. "I'll just help Elt finish with setting up camp."

/

The party moved on from the camp with all due haste. There was no telling if the target was still in the city-state of Sheffield still. He could have moved on, and securing a ship to set sail to Zipangu was a rather stressful ordeal when they considered whose territory they were going into. The Oberon League was a gathering of neutral city-states that declared for no man or monster save for themselves. They were utterly outside of the influence of the Order or of the Monster Overlord. Not only that, they also had the backings of several dwarven holds in the area and the port cities that faced the great eastern ocean were pretty much under their sway.

Wilmarina had never been to the League territories but from time to time she heard her late father complaining about them, and when Elt had asked about what she knew of the League she answered to the best of her ability.

The League was not very friendly with the Order and their relationship with the monsters were more regulated affairs, but they allowed the monsters to settle in their territory provided they followed their stringent laws. None of the others had any idea about the League either, but all she knew was that they did not look kindly upon foreign invaders, monster or no. They just wanted to be left alone.

"The Oberon League…"

The Hero turned to the witch at her side, sitting on a ball of floating slime as she consulted a small encyclopedia. "Not even the Wandering Scholar's been there." Mimil commented as she flipped through a page. "But they're a hard working people apparently, and they have a lot of trade pacts with Zipangu merchants."

"So...it's a country for merchants then?" Primera asked. "You humans and your obsession with money."

"Money can't buy happiness, but it can come close." Elt said. "From what Wilmarina says, the League has a lot of gold in their coffers, enough to fund the Order's wars for centuries. No such luck trying to get them to pay though."

Wilmarina agreed with that sentiment.

"Do they have heroes there?" Ursula asked.

"That I do not know." Wilmarina answered. "Which is why I must ask all of you to stay on your toes."

"At least they have an Adventurer's Guild." Fina muttered. "Makes it easier to track our target."

Wilmarina considered that option and decided to let Fina take the lead on that. She asked. "Can you handle that front?"

Fina looked at her and nodded her head. "Yeah, I'll make inquiries at the Guild. I'll say I worked with him and was just curious if he made it out of Lescatie or not."

"Okay. First phase is planned out." Wilmarina announced. "We should be close to the first town in Sheffield, in around three days so we're going to have to put on disguises."

"It would be bad if someone recognized you, Lady Noscrim." Ursula commented with a small smile as she received a warning glare from Fina.

Wilmarina was going to have to keep an eye on these two before they got themselves killed.

Or if Fina decides to remove Ursula's head from her shoulders, which would be bad of course.

* * *

_Sheffield…_

"So he said yes!?"

Sierra giggled at Molly's excited expression.

"Yes, he's going with us." The elf answered shaking her raven locks. She put her hands to her cheeks. "I'm so excited...For him mostly." Sierra looked over to the side. "He's done so much for Master Emil and I, but he never really asks for anything in return."

She looked back to Molly who smiled cheekily. "You really like him, yeah?" She asked.

"I do…" Sierra said. "I just wish to do something for him. You know, to make him smile for once and yet I do not know what he likes…"

"So why don't you ask him?" Molly said, drinking out of her teacup. She wished for some ale but Sierra had been the one who wanted to meet here.

"I...p-plan on doing that of course!" Sierra realized the gap in her logic, and also the fact that she ahd just given Molly more ammunition to make fun of her.

"When? Now?" Molly asked her grinning. "Because the Festival's beginning soon, the Lords want security tight and I'm on the night shift so I won't be able to help you much you know."

"When he gets back, he has business to take care of." Sierra said. She pouted insistently. "Stop looking at me like that! He was tight-lipped about it!"

Sierra was a bit worried deep down inside though. Klaus said that someone important wanted to see him, when asked he just showed her the letter with the seal emblazoned on the scroll. A seal that belonged to Lord Nial Henderson, a member of the leading council of Sheffield.

Nobody was summoned to see one of the ruling lords of Sheffield for just a friendly chat. Klaus had thought the same thing hence why he was going to see what this was about. Sierra had wished him good luck, and hoped nothing happened.

Nial Henderson was known to be a kind man, even if he was one of the patrons of the military organizations of the city-state. He was said to be a former mercenary so maybe he just wanted to talk to someone so...infamous.

At least, that was what Sierra had hoped would happen.

/

Cyril was allowed into the main keep by a guard. The adjutant to the noble he had been summoned by was waiting for him. The man's imperious and disdainful look faded as he saw that Klaus Tennstedt was no gutter scum but a rather scary individual.

"I-I…" He stammered as Cyril regarded him with a cold glance.

"I was summoned here. Are you here to lead me to your master, good sir?" Cyril asked.

"Y-Your name s-sir?" The adjutant stammered again, trying to find his bearings and to look anywhere except for Cyril's horrible, blank eyes.

"Klaus Tennstedt." Cyril introduced himself.

"Ah, y-yes!" The adjutant bowed. "Please, this way! Master Henderson awaits you!"

Cyril bowed his own head in return, as customary for him. He allowed the adjutant to lead him deeper into the keep. The Lords and Ladies of Sheffield kept their own personal estates throughout the territory but all of them made the decisions that impacted the lives of big and small here in the main keep.

Cyril had seen that it would also be a formidable bastion should an enemy breach the city walls. The Hunter had doubts however. He had seen the guards around the city on their patrols. They were well armed with metal armor, and the companies responsible for the safety of the keep wore even heavier mail plate. Complete with full face covering helms, heavy swords and high quality halberds the soldiery of Sheffield were a solid competent bunch.

The Hunter had yet to see what else the city-state had in store for its formidable defenses. Cyril turned his attention to his current situation as it stood. Somebody high up in the city council had an eye on him in particular, one in charge of the city-state's military.

At least that was what Emil and Sierra had told him about Nial Henderson. The man was a slippery snake apparently. Cyril didn't care. If the man thought threats or blackmail was enough to deter him to be an errand boy he had another thing coming.

The door to the office opened.

"Pardon me for my lateness, I had some business to take care of."

The Good Hunter got a good glimpse of Lord Nial Henderson. The man was in his mid forties, with a well trimmed salt and pepper beard. Unlike most lords whose clothing was more ostentatious, Nial preferred a more modest set of clothing underneath a deep blue coat. The heraldry of a knight was emblazoned on his chest.

"Ah...so here is the mercenary of the famous Prancing Pony."

Cyril looked into Nial's stormy gray eyes. "What of it?" He asked the lord directly. "I assume this wasn't meant to be a social chat."

"Indeed, you are correct...Cyril Sutherland."

Cyril rocketed to his feet, pistol in hand and the barrel aimed right in between Nial's eyes. The Lord didn't react overtly. Instead he smiled apologetically as he leaned forward.

"Please. I mean no harm whatsoever, but if you do end up shooting me in the head...I hope you know that there are hundreds of armed soldiers here." He said pleasantly.

"It makes no difference to me." Cyril growled. "How do you know that name? Tell me before I paint this room with your brains."

Nial smiled and beckoned for Cyril to sit back down. The Hunter refused, pistol still in hand. But he did lower it.

"I have a contact in the city you see, hiding out just like you. That and I have done some research into rumors of a certain Moon Scented Hunter." Nial explained to Cyril. "I know, I know...You have a reason for hiding. You were there during the Fall of Lescatie weren't you?"

"Get to the point." Cyril said coldly, his cruel gaze narrowing. "Before I decide that this conversation, and your life, is over."

Nial's smile faded as he realized that no, Cyril was not kidding. He knew the Hunter was dangerous, but reasonable when passive. The Lord exhaled, shaking for a bit.

"I have need of your talents, my young friend." He said trying to calm himself down. It was hard not to. He already made a mistake by antagonizing an extremely dangerous man. "As you can see, the Union Festival is upon this city. Which presents the rather unique problem of distracting our guards."

Nial leaned back in his chair. "You dealt with a group of Order zealots the other day yes?"

Cyril nodded.

Nial sighed. "Those aren't the only ones. We've been dealing with them for the past few months."

"Are they a threat?" Cyril asked, holstering his pistol. Perhaps this was an opportunity. Of course, if Lord Nial Henderson thought to do something untoward...He could just kill him if he got the chance. Still, a chance to earn some coin would do him good.

At least he'd have some money in case the possible assassination attempt occurred and succeeded.

"They are." Nial said. "I have said as such to the council but they have dismissed me as a rambling warmonger."

"And the monsters?" Cyril asked.

"Those who live here are Sheffield's." Nial answered. "They've proven themselves just as worthy as the humans who have come here as refugees from the Order's failures. True, the League is not friendly towards the forces of the Monster Lord but there are just as many monsters who want nothing to do with the war against the Order."

He smiled at Cyril. "I see that your existence as been a bloody one, but you came here just like them. A refugee from a war you want nothing to do with." Nial leaned forward. "So I must ask: are you willing to shed blood in the defense of this ideal?"

Cyril looked at Nial seriously. "You do realize what you are asking me to do, lord." He said to Nial.

"Yes, I am asking you to kill. Not just for me but for this city." Nial answered.

Cyril sat back down in his chair. "And how much are you willing to pay?" He asked.

"We can discuss the price of course." Nial said, he wasn't so stupid to think that Cyril would do this from the goodness of his heart.

But the potential for a massacre was just too much of a risk for him to be passive.

He just prayed that he made the right choice in hiring the Moon Scented Hunter.


	14. Chapter 14

14

Curse the Fiends

Cyril would meet Lord Henderson twice more as the week went on and the Union Festival drew ever closer to its debut. The Hunter immediately knew that whatever he expected to happen, it was not going to be pretty. The Good Hunter sighed as he sat down in the middle of town, having gone on break from the Prancing Pony.

Guiltily, he found that he had been ignoring Sierra for the past few days. Henderson had specifically asked him to keep their dealings secret, but the Lord understood that he really wanted to be left in peace. The Hunter found himself respecting the man; unlike the other gutter slime that was infesting the bourgeoisie Lord Henderson was in no way like the self serving aristocrats that often plagued the continent. The man put the safety of the subjects here first, instead of serving himself.

The Hunter pulled his hood back up. No time for sulking, he had a certain someone to placate and Sierra Underhill was someone he did not want to upset. It pained him, honestly, to know that she would find out one day that she was in love with a shadow. Cyril exhaled as he walked into the Prancing Pony, already feeling the stares but the tavern quickly went back to its more boisterous atmosphere. Seems like everyone was getting used to his presence now, which was a good thing he supposed.

Cyril greeted Emil who was busy with a barrel of ale that he was currently getting ready for service. He and other workers had lifted it into place so Sierra could start. She glanced at him briefly, smiling coyly. Cyril waved at her, politely but distantly, and made his way into the back to finish chopping more firewood. The Good Hunter let his thoughts drift as he chopped the first piece of firewood in half. Eventually, time passed and he continued chopping firewood.

The Hunter kept cutting firewood, even as flashes of memory went through his mind. Sometimes, he was back in Yharnam fighting against beasts and madmen, other times the memory was that of an old life he had thought he left behind. The axe in his hand was a halberd, and he stood before the corpse of a soldier.

Sometimes he heard gunfire, the clashing of steel, the sound of orders being given. Cyril did not know where they came from, these memories...Was he truly someone who was once a soldier? The Hunter did not try to remember again. Cyril brought the axe down hard on the wooden log, splitting it in half. Cyril reached down to the pile and nearly stumbled. He realized that he had just finished chopping all of the firewood up.

"Shit." He muttered. The Hunter set the axe down and pulled up a chair to sit down, just to have a quiet moment to himself. Nial Henderson had him keeping an eye out for zealot activity but during his time in the city, he had neither seen hair or hide of the dumb bastards.

That one portly priest whose face he had sliced open, however, he had seen lurking around the streets. He reported it to Nial Henderson and asked for more information.

/

_Lord Nial Henderson's office, a day ago…_

"That one?"

Nial Henderson leaned back in his chair as he faced the Good Hunter. The man just asked about the ever infamous Father Zachariah. "The man is as dumb as a rock; a braggart who believes that the existence of the League is an affront to the world." The lord took a sip out of his tankard of brandy. In front of Cyril was a hot cup of tea. The man claimed that he drank, but seeing as he was all business, Lord Nial let him have his tea.

It wasn't hard to do, the other choice was having his spine removed from his body by a clearly dangerous man.

"And yet...he has been a thorn in your side for a long time." Cyril noted.

"He has friends in the Ludendorf Company, and several others." Nial said. "Not to mention the ears of other groups who have their interests shared with the Order, hence why I have not been able to take punitive action until now." The Lord frowned, frustration and anger apparent on his face. Cyril didn't care, his concern was the task that he had been saddled with. Any information that made his job a lot easier was something he wanted right now.

"To be clear, Hunter, our enemy is a zealous bastard with a penchant for brutality. Something that our city has not faced in a long, long time." Nial continued. "He'd be a bigger threat if he wasn't so stupid enough to act so brazenly."

"Why haven't you killed him yet?" Cyril asked.

"The other lords are getting skittish about it, but they won't allow me to act." Nial answered. "And as you know a war waged by committee is a guaranteed war that you are going to lose."

Cyril leaned back. "Your colleagues are idiots." He said bluntly.

Nial chuckled humorlessly. "Indeed they are, but now that I have you on the streets...we may be able to prevent casualties. The Order is going to act, I know that. What I want to be able to do is to keep them from doing as much damage as possible."

"You have other agents?" Cyril asked.

"Yes." Nial took another sip from his brandy. "Four in total, and that includes you. An errant knight, a former highway man and…"

"Lord Nial, I have my report ready-"

The door opened and Cyril found himself looking into the eyes of Sasha Fullmoon. The former Order cleric had cut her hair short it seemed, into a more fashionable, utilitarian bob underneath a white habit. She wore robes of gray, a far cry from the white raiment she wore back in Lescatie.

Sasha let out a small, frightened gasp as she stumbled back at the sight of the very same man who slaughtered his way through monsters in Lescatie. Her heart was conflicted still, for Cyril had helped her and those children she managed to rescue escape the sacking of Lescatie.

Her eyes wide, Sasha continued staring at Cyril.

Nial raised a brow at her reaction. "Miss Sasha?" He asked. "Are you unwell?"

Sasha ignored him, as she composed herself briefly. She hadn't expected to meet him here it looked like. Cyril kept his face impassive but there was no doubt that he was just as surprised as she was.

"I'm fine, my lord. I see that you're busy, I shall return later to make my report." Sasha spoke, bowing before swiftly making herself scarce. Cyril turned his attention back to Nial who shrugged and sighed.

"I assume that you knew each other?" Nial asked.

"Not that well. We are not friends." Cyril answered. He was going to be seeing a lot of Sasha Fullmoon these coming days...he was very sure of that.

/

_Presently…_

Cyril heard the knocking on his door, blinking in confusion. He realized that he had been sleeping for quite a while. Emil had thought that he was ill, and so let the Hunter go back to his room to take a break. Sierra was worried, of course and told him not to help her finish closing the tavern. The Hunter got up, sitting at the edge of his bed. Sighing to himself, Cyril stood up to open the door.

Sierra had a tray of food and a tankard of ale. "Um...Mister Klaus?"

Cyril blinked. "Oh. Is it...time for dinner then?" He asked sounding very tired.

Sierra smiled at him. "Yes. You didn't come down, Emil thought you had come down with something."

Cyril shook his head and the High Elf noticed how tired he seemed. "I just had some trouble sleeping." He told her. "It will pass, I assure you." He did take the food though and started eating. Sierra watched him eat, still concerned as to her coworker's health but she was nonetheless glad that he was eating. Cyril noticed all of this while he ate his supper.

The Hunter turned his attention to filling his stomach with food. A few days until the festival and there was nothing forthcoming. Even Nial was starting to lose hope but he was not complacent. Cyril knew that complacency was a mistake, Hunters greater than he was had fallen to the claws of beasts or to Cyril's own blade when they thought that he was weaker than they.

Cyril counted on the zealots being the same, thinking that inaction on the part of the city guards meant the lack of resolve. He finished his ale and his supper with a low sigh. "That was good. Thank you." He said to Sierra, stopping her from taking the tray. "I can take care of this for you, we should probably start closing up."

"Oh." Sierra lowered her hands. "Right."

The pair headed down. Already the last of the tavern's customers were either heading out or preparing to find some rooms in the establishment. Sierra and Cyril began their work, closing up the bar. Cyril swept the floors and put the bar stools up on the bar. He helped out wiping all of the tables down.

Sierra watched him from her place behind the bar with a gentle smile. The smile faded a but however as she nervously thought about the gift she was going to give him. Thomasin had jokingly suggested wearing something rather racy after the festival was over and when they were completely alone but she put her foot down with the Cyclops, saying that she wanted something more appropriate for the occasion. A gift that would show her appreciation to Klaus, and one that could hopefully protect him as well.

The High Elf went back to her task of wiping down the bar.

/

_The next day…_

The Prancing Pony was closed on account of it being scrubbed clean by the other workers. Sierra was among those working but Cyril had to go see Lord Henderson again. The Hunter pulled his hood over his head as he departed for Sheffield's central keep.

Cyril exhaled as he walked inside. Already, he saw several of the noble class discussing what they were going to do for the festival. Good for them, he mused to himself. The adjutant of Lord Henderson led the Hunter through the crowd, the conversations beginning to wane as they saw the rather intimidating man in the gray coat. Cyril ignored the crowd staring at him and just concentrated on what was going to happen.

He was here not just to meet Lord Nial, but also his agents who had been gathered from around the city-state. He had already seen Sasha...and that was going to be an extremely awkward the moment Nial allowed him into the office.

The adjutant stopped at the door to Nial's office. Already he heard voices inside the room. Cyril lowered his hood and walked in, ignoring the protests of the adjutant. Inside Nial was standing behind his desk, looking at a map alongside two other men. Sasha wasn't here yet.

The man to the left was obviously a knight and yet he held no heraldry save for the sigil of twin crows embroidered on his surcoat, which was solid green on one side and checkered with black on the other. The man was a bit older than Cyril, with dark brown hair and a well trimmed goatee.

Next to him was a younger man around Cyril's age, with sandy colored hair and dark green eyes. He himself wore a duster coat over nondescript clothes, not unlike a hunter. His armaments consisted of a pair of knives, a short hacking blade and what looked like a pistol holstered at his back.

Nial noticed the newcomer and gave a smile. The two men stepped aside to let their employer walk over to Cyril. The younger one nudged the older man with a grin, one the armored warrior did not return.

"The hero of the hour!" Nial had a smile on his face, which faded as he saw Cyril's dead eyed gaze on him. The lord cleared his throat and gestured for the Hunter to go inside. He quietly dismissed his adjutant, telling him to get Sasha when she arrived.

"Welcome, Master Cyril. These two are my other agents you will be working with for the Festival." Nial said. "This is Hastur, Knight Errant."

The armored warrior nodded. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance." Hastur spoke. The errant knight's tone was neutral and distant. Cyril could understand if the man was trying to find weaknesses. He had been doing the same thing.

"The charming rogue you see to your right is Dimas." Nial introduced the other agent under his employ.

"Charmed." Dimas grinned. The young man had an easy grin on his face, marred as it was by a large scar. "Heard a lot about the strange guard in the Prancing Pony. I was surprised to hear that he was someone else…"

Cyril did not respond. "What have you heard about me then?" He asked, he was just curious...nothing more.

"The Butcher of Lescatie, in the flesh." Dimas grinned. "It's about time you turned up. Now the Order and the Monsters won't mess with us when they find out that you're on the field eh?"

"Miss Sasha would be upset to hear you talk like that, Dimas." Hastur commented. "And you are pissing off our newest member."

Dimas frowned at Hastur. "Me? My feelings are hurt, good sir Hastur!" He said with fake outrage.

"Enough, you fool." Nial said to Dimas "We have a meeting remember?"

"Yes, Dimas." Hastur spoke. He turned to Cyril. "Master Cyril, I apologize for my partner's foolish demeanor."

"No offense was taken." Cyril answered. "Just tell me what needs to be done."

There was a knock at the door before it opened, revealing Sasha Fullmoon in her gray habit.

"Ah, good. Miss Fullmoon's here." Dimas smiled. "That means the meeting's a good thing right?"

Hastur shook his head. Off to the side, Cyril's eyes met with Sasha's. The former Hero of the Order looked away. Cyril said nothing, merely crossing his arms as he sat through his first meeting with another employer.

/

"No word yet?"

"No, my lord...Neither Slavia or Kilsev have found anything of note…"

Sasha Fullmoon paid close attention to Nial as he put the agents under his command to the question. Hastur had ridden out to the other territories of the Oberon League in order to warn them of the danger of having the Union Festival in Sheffield for this year. The other territories had refused; Nabarus, Kilsev, and Slavia were not capable of holding such festivities as they had just endured several months of plague that ravaged their crops. Sheffield alone had escaped such misfortune but had sent aid to its neighbors as a gesture of good faith.

Erebus, a small kingdom north of Slavia and the most recent addition to the League, had undergone a horrific power struggle where its Twelfth King, Uriel, and his Queen Arella the Succubus, were deposed by his own son the now Thirteenth King Samael. A terrible situation but King Samael had assured the League that it would not move against their interests in the region.

Regardless, her thoughts were more focused on the fact that she had not expected to encounter the Good Hunter himself here. She was conflicted, definitely conflicted at his presence here and now. Cyril Sutherland did indeed help her and her orphans out of Lescatie.

And yet, his reputation as a bloodthirsty maniac terrified her. When Lord Nial had mentioned bringing in a new agent, she had dreaded who it was and hoped that it had not been Cyril. Fate had seen fit to dash away her hopes.

Sasha did not really blame Cyril for what he had done in Lescatie. The monsters had destroyed her home city, and yet her guilt truly only extended towards the poor people. She could not find herself to care about the clergy and the nobility.

_Elt...I'm so sorry…_ She thought to herself.

"And you, Dimas?" Nial asked the highwayman who took a long drought of his ale. "Anything on the road towards Lescatie?"

"A lot of refugees filling up the towns beyond it." Dimas said, seriously this time. Sasha watched him, she had worked with both Dimas and Hastur long before Cyril had arrived here. It was mostly as a supporting healer but she knew that while Dimas was a playful soul, he worked twice as hard as Hastur did.

The highwayman traced the road from Lescatie to Oppenheimer. "Lots of folk here are pissed at the situation." He said. "At the Order, at the Monsters...hell, everyone might be blaming the gods for all I have heard."

Dimas sighed. "All I'm betting is that these guys were probably from that area." He said, circling the area. "No way Zachariah, fucking pig priest that he is, is the leader in all of this. He's getting his orders from someone." He turned to Sasha and sheepishly apologized.

"No offense, Miss Sasha."

Sasha shook her head gracefully. "No offense taken." She said. She was never going to get used to Dimas' flippant mannerisms but she did enjoy it.

"And you, master Cyril?" Nial's question was now given to the newest agent. "Anything you've seen in the city?"

"A lot more firebrand preachers are out and about." Cyril answered. "Other than that, I have heard nothing."

Nial scratched at his cheek with a frown. "Regardless, we all need to be vigilant. There are only a few days before the festival." The lord looked at his agents. "I will dismiss you all for now, but remember that lives are at stake here. That and the First will be coming back here after a month's journey. Let me tell you this: A disappointed Dragon is a lot easier to handle than an angry Dragon."

Sasha saw the grim understanding in the eyes of the other agents. Cyril no doubt had heard of the ruler of Sheffield itself. The city-state may be ruled by its committees of powerful nobles and its military under the command of Nial and his veteran captains, but Ancalagon the Grim held the allegiance of all of them.

Said to be a massive, _massive, _Black Dragon, Ancalagon was one of the founding members of the Oberon League and as such demanded respect from all who encountered her. No one dared to oppose her whims whenever she made a monthly trip to the great nation of Dragonia, the land of Dragons and the ancestral home of the Grim.

The Order told tales of the huge Black Dragon, who conquered the territory that would become Sheffield and the absolute depths she would sink to defend it from all who tried to take it. There were even rumors that the current Demon Lord was wary of her, considering that Ancalagon had been there when the last one fell.

Sasha had only seen Ancalagon once before, the Dragon rarely making public appearances in human and dragon form, but it was a sight that she would remember always. The dragon's magnificent wings an enormous shadow over the city as she flew away to Dragonia.

She turned to Cyril who was speaking to both Hastur and Dimas about something. How different he was...he inspired dread, not awe. But he was tired...Sasha saw that the moment he passed by her orphanage in Lescatie. He was tired, and an ocean's worth of burdens lay on his shoulders.

When they dispersed Sasha followed Cyril out. As they exited the central keep, Cyril stopped.

"You survived that night." He commented, not facing Sasha.

"I did." Sasha answered, warily. Magic came to her as easily as it used to but with the Moon Scented Hunter, she was not so sure about her chances of surviving. Winning a fight against the Hunter was an incredibly laughable notion, almost as fleeting as a dream.

"How are the children?" Cyril asked neutrally. He stepped aside so he wasn't in the way. Sasha followed him.

"They're fine. Ember and Aran are helping me take care of the little ones." Sasha answered warily. "You do remember them right?"

Cyril shrugged. "Somewhat." He said quietly as he leaned against the wall.

"Are you...still an adventurer?" Sasha asked him.

"I thought it best to lay low." Cyril answered, civilly much to Sasha's surprise. "I go by the name Klaus Tennstedt, for now at least. I work at a tavern."

"I see." Sasha said. She noted that Cyril seemed...relaxed. More at peace than anything. Maybe the tavern he worked with was a lot more special than she thought. "What tavern? The Pony?"

Cyril nodded. Sasha saw it then. The Hunter had mentioned looking for a home, and he had probably found it in Sheffield. She exhaled, realizing why he had agreed so readily to working with Lord Nial. The Order was in the city and they were planning to unleash violence, claiming a crusade…

Sasha honestly pitied them. Once, such zealots would have been comrades in arms. After the hypocrisy of Lescatie and its clergy...and its subsequent sacking by the monsters, much of her ideals had been shattered that night. Now? She wished to protect those who truly mattered, the people who lived here. Cyril had a stake here, but the lengths he would go to…

It would become a massacre. And pity the poor souls who would face off against the Moon Scented Hunter.

* * *

Fina Brusilov exhaled furiously as she plastered a smile on her face and thanked the receptionist at the Guild before departing, throwing the hood of her cloak over her head. Nothing. In fact, the Guild had assumed the Hunter was dead when news of the attack on Lescatie spread throughout the nation.

The Dhampir swore under her breath. There was record of the Moon Scented Hunter ever passing through Marienburg the past few months. What was worse? Apparently anything that was not essential was closing up shop due to the festival that was beginning tomorrow. Fina didn't know if it was an opportunity or a detriment to their cause but the party needed to be in the city of Sheffield before anyone was alerted.

Perhaps it was an opportunity after all…

Wilmarina had to be warned.

Now or never.

/

The Union Festival.

Wilmarina had learned about it from a kindhearted merchant giving her and her companions a ride into Sheffield, passing under one of the great gates and under the watchful eye of the soldiers standing guard. No doubt the men and women garbed in steel would not be able to participate in the celebrations of the founding of the city.

Elt, Primera and Mimil were in awe of so many men and monsters congregating. Sheffield did not care where one came from, the merchant had told Wilmarina as she and Ursula kept an eye out. So long as you followed the rules of the Four: No monster may harm and coerce a man into slavery, and neither will a man harm a monster without good cause. Unlike the Order, it placed no great importance on faith in the gods. What mattered was the worth of good men and women, those who helped their neighbors helped themselves.

There was a boom up above as fireworks erupted. The city dwellers were reveling, chatter was abundant as was food and drink. Everyone was happy it seemed, whether for the city or for other reasons the people of Sheffield were finally allowed to celebrate for a week.

"Damn...this is a really big festival." Elt said after whistling in astonishment. He kept his hood up, same as Ursula and the others. Wilmarina, Fina and Elt could still pass for humans but Ursula, Primera and Mimil needed to be more careful. Even with glamour charms, their quarry was made of sterner stuff.

There was no doubt that if he found out the party was here, he would stop at nothing to destroy them all.

"Will we really find him here?" Ursula asked Wilmarina. "In any case, even if we do, how are we supposed to get him out of the city? Let alone defeat him in battle?"

Fina snorted. "Yeah, you asked the right questions. I'm sure you'd like to volunteer for the job then?"

Ursula stayed quiet, seeing the seething rage in Fina's eyes.

"Enough. We're here now, so we must plan accordingly." Wilmarina put a stop to whatever argument was about to begin between the both of them. "Although...We do have a week or two to proceed as planned, right now I want someone to scout out the area."

"I'll go." Primera was off within one moment. She laid a paw on Elt's shoulder before leaning in to give him a brief kiss on the cheek. "Wait for me," She panted, eyes wet before she headed out hooded and cloaked.

Wilmarina gave a playful pout to Elt, who scratched his cheek embarrassed. Mimil rolled her eyes, although there was a glimpse of a smile on her young face.

Time to get to work.

* * *

Cyril allowed himself to be dragged along by Sierra who excitedly chattered about what was going on in the festival. Despite himself, he was enjoying the Elf's enthusiasm. He heard chuckling and looked down at Emil, the Dwarf having caught up to the much taller pair. He winked at Cyril who let out an embarrassed smile.

The Union Festival had begun, and the people celebrated not just the founding of the city-state of Sheffield but also the good fortune it had been blessed with to have reached this point. Men and monster reveled in the streets, music and chatter abundant through the city.

Cyril had never heard such things, he found it...rather exciting but at the same time he couldn't help but feel overly cautious. The words of Nial Henderson still ran through his mind. There was a threat here, waiting for its chance to strike. Cyril wished it was so easy to put it down.

Zealots...Cyril was not impressed at all. But he knew the damage that fanaticism and faith could do.

"Klaus?"

Cyril blinked then turned his attention to Sierra. "What would you like to do first?"

The Hunter blinked again and then heard a pop. He turned over to one of the stalls where people were shooting targets with what looked like a toy crossbow. Cyril walked over, Sierra and Emil following curiously.

"Ah, you there sir!" The stall owner said as he waved the Hunter forward. "Would you like a try? A strapping young man such as yourself would surely win at least one prize right?"

Cyril looked at the toy crossbow being offered. "What are the rules?" He asked.

"Hit all three targets and you win a prize!" The owner said with a foxy smile. "Hit the six that you get glimpses of and you get a little bag of gold for your trouble."

Cyril thought about it, nodded and took up the crossbow. The targets were all in a row, but the owner pulled on a lever and they began moving in very strange patterns.

"Ready?" The stall owner asked him.

Cyril took aim.

/

"Well, lad...I can say this." Emil commented as Sierra cooed over a new stuffed bear. Cyril paid the stall owner who was still gaping at him alongside a small crowd of people. "You are one dead eye shot that I don't wanna mess with."

Cyril turned to the dwarf. "I liked the crossbow." He stated.

Emil sighed. Cyril didn't let the triumphant smile on his face show. The Hunter was enjoying himself for once in his life and he would like to continue. But Sierra was hungry, and so was Emil. The trio ate and made merry with Emil telling stories of his adventures when he was but a Dwarf miner in one of the holds of the Dwarves.

Sierra laughed and Cyril listened to Emil Goldgather's tales as he and his band of miners not only fought off subterranean creatures never seen above ground but also the gloomy darkness that all dwarves faced in the world's mountains. Cyril made a note to visit one of the holds, just to see it for himself.

Maybe one day, when all things had settled, he would write a book about his adventures.

The tale of Cyril Sutherland, the Hunter.

Cyril would have laughed out loud had he been alone. He pushed out those thoughts for now as Sierra asked Emil for another story. The Hunter looked at the unlikely pair, observing them. He wished he could bring the Doll here, he was sure that she would have enjoyed it. Maybe she too would enjoy a friendship with Sierra and Emil?

The Hunter leaned back, closing his eyes briefly. So much to do...And yet he could not bring himself to fully enjoy today.

Cyril opened his eyes as Emil told a rather bawdy joke that Sierra had just figured out. The Hunter turned his gaze over to the meandering crowd. That was when he saw her.

A monster, for no human could ever have skin that pale, garbed in deep black robes and a hood. A circlet was placed gracefully on her raven hair.

The Banshee gave him a sorrowful look, Cyril's eyes narrowed as he made to stand up.

"Klaus?" Sierra asked as she saw Cyril stand up and walked over to the crowd.

There was a shout, and a young woman; a Were-rabbit pointed and screamed as a group of brown robed men emerged into the spotlight.

"For the Order!" The leader roared as he drew a club and smashed it into the head of a wandering civilian.

"FOR THE ORDER! AND THE CHIEF GOD!"

"HERESY! WITCHCRAFT! MONSTERS!"

Emil grabbed Sierra by the hand, the High Elf paled as the slaughter began. Soldiers, bearing the crest of Sheffield struggled to contain the threat as zealots charged into the crowds, killing indiscriminantly. Cyril had drawn his own weapon, cursing his inaction as he realized that he had lost Emil and Sierra in the confusion.

A brown robed maggot rushed him with a club, spewing hate and scripture. With a bestial snarl, Cyril cut him down, hacking the man's arm and head from his body with two swift swings of his sword. The Hunter was alone, but that didn't matter.

He had to find Emil and Sierra. They would not be hurt on his watch.

Cyril slaughtered another zealot that dared get in his way. Already, the clash of steel was getting louder. Cyril smelled smoke but he was focused on protecting his two friends in this city. The Hunter was on the move, Nial Henderson be damned.

/

Dimas shot another man in the face. The zealots were pressing hard, fighting with a ferocity born of the true faithful. The former highwayman smashed aside another enemy with his pistol, drawing his knife in the process. Behind him, on her knees Sasha was whispering a chant; a healing spell for the man who was screaming in pain.

"This is nuts." Dimas said to her. "How many of these bastards are there!?"

Sasha didn't answer, her focus centered on saving a man's life. When she finished she looked over to where there were more wounded. Ruined wagons were used as barricades as the soldiers of Sheffield held back the Order attacks.

With the foot soldiers using the length of their pikes to keep the Order zealots back, the musketeers of the home guard used the devastating volleys to make short work of the Order attackers. Faith and fury made for a frightening combo however and the advance of the guard was slowed.

Dimas couldn't support such a large group but he damned well did the best that he could. When a musketeer fell, a throwing axe embedded into his skull, Dimas took his place. He looked briefly back at Sasha, still healing who she could. She carried a spike mace strapped to her belt.

Dimas prayed she didn't have to use it.

/

"Keep those flanks secure!"

Hastur gripped his sword as he stood his ground with the company of soldiers he was stuck in.

An attack, and it was during the start of the Union Festival. Hastur thanked whatever god was out there in helping him make the decision to move his wife and daughters out in the countryside for now. They would have entered the city on the second day…

The knight errant shuddered to think about what would have happened if they were here.

"Here they come!"

Hastur saw the enemy coming in, and they were fiends who wore the masks of men. The Knight Errant charged with the men at his side, roaring in anger and vengeance against those who would dare defile this city with their evil.

Two lines of warriors slammed into each other, spears splintering and shields breaking. One side sought to defend their home in the name of its people, the other side sought to destroy it in the name of their gods.

* * *

They weren't moving.

Cyril Sutherland stared at the still forms of Sierra Underwood and of Emil Goldgather.

"Ah, another heretic!"

A fat man with a huge scar on his face grinned as he lifted a bloody club. This was Father Zachariah, mastermind of the attack on Sheffield. "I see now that you are seeing the error of your ways-"

"**Curse the fiends…" **

Cyril stepped forward, his sword drawn as he held out his hand. Ashes gathered in his hand, forming into a gruesome weapon; the fusion of a saw and cleaver that was recognizable as the weapon of a madman.

The Hunter moved, even as the tattered tricorne hat was born from the same ashes as his Saw Cleaver.

"**And their children too…"**

The Hunter's arm swept out. The Saw Cleaver unfolded into a mighty blade, fit only to kill until there was nothing left.

The man to the left of him, who was approaching to surround the lone killer, died instantly as his head separated from his shoulders. Another tried to go for Cyril's head only for the Hunter to impale the man on the length of the sword in his other hand. With a bestial snarl, Cyril tore the man apart before turning his attention on the fat priest that dared to show a smile on his face during this atrocity.

Father Zachariah froze as Cyril's deep red eyes met his, filled with nothing but pure hatred.

Hate that burned cold. Hate that promised pain. Hate that promised suffering and slaughter.

"**And their children, forever _true…"_**

Zachariah screamed in terror.


	15. Chapter 15

15

The Death of Sleep

It was supposed to be a celebration.

Nial Henderson rode through the streets at the head of his bodyguards, astonished at how such happiness could have easily been so dashed away. By order of the city council, Sheffield was under lock down. The gates were sealed and the guards permitted no one to pass through. There was an uptick in smugglers, forcing Nial to order his captains to search every wagon that tried to get out of the city.

The Lord was angry, furious. But he didn't let that get into his head because he had work to do. By his authority, he had placed the city under martial law and since he was in command of most of the soldiery that bore the crest of Sheffield it was easy to do. Nial thought back to his compatriots on the council, and his scowl deepened. Damned merchantmen and their concern for coin over the people. Look where it got them now, and with Ancalagon surely on her way back things were about to get messier.

If half of them survived that initial meeting with the Black Dragon, Nial would consider that a lucky start.

This travesty, and the blood price it accrued, solely belonged to the Order of the Chief God. In a move that would probably shake the foundation of the city, he had ordered all of the churches to cease services and to immediately open their buildings up to healers and those who needed healing. He began sending out overtures to nonhuman healers who often came by the city to ply their trade.

If that meant contacting the Greilia Sabbath then so be it. There would be those who would decry the Sabbath as a member of the Monster Extremists, but only an idiot would say that Greilia Little was not a good healer.

While the regular army troopers were busy with patrols, guard duty and escorts he had set his more elite ranks to the task of hunting down Father Zachariah and his cronies. Easy to do in a city like this, now that the zealots had shown what they had thought of Sheffield the ordinary folks were quick to give up those who were involved, partially or wholly.

Nial exhaled through his nose.

When Ancalagon returned, there was going to be a lot of explaining to do. Regardless, he supposed this was inevitable. Ancalagon was not going to take this lightly, she'd demand answers from the Order seeing as the ones responsible were fanatics of the Chief God.

First, he had to find Zachariah and grill him for answers. The problem there was his newest and missing agent.

Cyril Sutherland had either perished, highly unlikely considering his talents for bloodshed, or he was hunting Zachariah on his own. Something he really did not relish. He had no doubt Cyril could find the priest, what he did not know was how stable the Hunter truly was. The agent had gone missing and it had been a few days since he had reported in.

He looked around at the devastation of his city.

He curses the nature of his station for the umpteenth time, and tiredly ordered his retinue to follow him onward.

/

Father Tobias tripped once and continued running, even as he felt his pursuer's dead eyes on the back of his head.

A fiend, a ghoulish fiend who fed upon those who served the Chief God. That was what was pursuing him, seeking to put an end to his life in a spectacularly gory way. The zealots had scattered throughout the city trying to run and hide but to no avail, the people of Sheffield were vengeful for what the zealots had done to their city.

Tobias cursed and screamed at his pursuer, the very same man that had slaughtered his way through the other six groups who had done their holy work night after night. With steel in his hand and fury in his heart, the Breaker had come for Father Tobias and his ilk seeking their lives and their souls for the sin of merely existing. Their worship of the Chief God was an affront to the Breaker.

And now...it was Tobias' turn to race against his fate.

Tobias turned another corner, panting and gasping for breath. Ungrateful heretics! They only sought to turn this city from its evil ways of cooperation and capitulation! The only path to salvation for these sinners was cleansing by holy fire-

A sword point punched into his gut. Tobias felt the invasion of a foreign object in his body, his legs suddenly slack. Strange how there was no pain. Tobias looked into the terribly blank eyes of his murderer who pulled back, the sword withdrew from his gut. The Hunter raised his other weapon, the dreaded cleaver that had decapitated Father Richard the night before.

The priest sank down to his knees and the last thing he saw was the cold iron of the Saw Cleaver coming down upon him.

/

Cyril Sutherland picked up the head of the priest, Tobias. One of the many degenerates Zachariah had under his command, Tobias was the seventh leader he had slain so far. Zachariah was currently languishing in an abandoned house. The bastard had tried to escape only once but Cyril caught him. Keeping him alive was a necessity, so he brought food alongside medicine.

The Hunter's rage came back in full force as he raised his cleaver and began hacking at the headless corpse in a series of vertical strikes. What did it matter? Sierra was dead, and so was Emil. He couldn't bear to watch them be taken away to be buried in some plot of land. Neither could he have bared to watch them be buried. Cyril panted heavily through his mask, then got back to work placing the bloody head in a haversack.

Hunting down the leadership had been the first thing he had done, and it had taken him many a night to do so. Zachariah's magic only gave the priest a momentary reprieve, a flash of light and then the man was gone. A teleportation spell, but it didn't matter. Cyril could still smell the man's fear and if he tried to hide, the Hunter would find him. He would _always_ find his prey.

And so began another round of slaughter, which did not end until the night fell and even then it continued. Cyril felt nothing but hate, hate for those who had taken the simple joy he found in this city. Hate for himself for losing it. Cyril had slaughtered his way through the zealots, returning to Zachariah's prison only to interrogate him as to who else he was working with.

That was how he had spent these days. A hunter looking for prey, no more no less.

He heard a rumble and looked up. It was thundering now. Rain, he thought to himself as it began. It was a small downpour. The bodies were going to rot before they were buried…

Cyril placed a hand to his mouth, and exhaled shakily. The Hunter put a hand against the wall to steady himself. It was time to head back. Zachariah was about to answer more questions, and if he didn't like it then that was too bad for him. He was grieving, that much was clear...but he had a mission to complete as well.

The Hunter still had obligations to his employer. As much as it pained him not to put Zachariah to the sword, he was still the instigator behind the atrocity in Sheffield. Cyril removed his hand and kept walking. Cyril felt that he was being followed and saw a group of brown robed men, each man holding a club or sword in their hands.

The Hunter turned around, Saw Cleaver in hand. Good, he was itching for a fight. Cyril moved quickly, charging the group without a word. In a single swing, he decapitated the lead man interrupting his spiel about doing the good work of the Chief God by killing the Hunter. Cyril didn't care about becoming a sinner in the eyes of some uncaring god.

If they wanted to meet her so badly, he was going to oblige these zealots.

Cyril's charge had certainly done what it was intended for, the zealots were shocked to the core at such brutality. The Hunter would have shaken his head in awe at their naivety in battle. It seemed that this place was not accustomed to such things, the zealots themselves fared even worse because most of them weren't warriors; in fact a lot of them had no experience in battle whatsoever. They expected to fight of civilians and guardsmen who were caught off guard.

None of them expected to find the Hunter, sharp as a keen edged knife and half-cut with blood.

Sad, but Cyril didn't care at all for the well-being of his enemies. The Hunter struck again, his Saw Cleaver biting deep into another zealot's chest even as his off hand reached out catching a man's sword arm. Cyril crushed the bones in the man's wrist, causing him to scream in agony. Yanking his blade back Cyril forced his other victim into the path of a sword thrust meant for his side.

Slow...They were so very slow. The zealots might as well have been wading through molasses. Even the monsters he had faced in Lescatie fared better than they did.

The Hunter shoved the corpse shield aside and struck the zealot behind it down, ripping a savage gash in the man's throat. Cyril exhaled slowly, blood dripping from...everywhere. He wiped his eyes with a sleeve. He looked around, waiting for another group of enemies before realizing he was alone.

_Why do you pretend to be something you're not? _

Cyril ignored the voice of Adella as he headed back.

_Oh dear Hunter...That woman was holding you back. It's good that she's dead no?_

_One such as you, half-mad, sharp as a knife...You should have been dead a long time ago…_

Cyril shook his head again at the voice of old Djura. "Shut up!" He hissed to himself. The Hunter kept moving.

/

The house had been abandoned for quite some time but it served its purpose adequately. Cyril opened the door and saw his prisoner. Zachariah glared at him, bound as he was to the wall. The man had been enthusiastically beaten up after his first, and only, escape attempt. Cyril made sure to only feed him enough to keep him alive but after that?

He would see what Lord Nial Henderson had in store for the priest. Regardless of whether he would be spared or killed, Cyril would make damn sure that he would die.

"You...heretic...bastard." Zachariah rasped. Cyril idly threw the haversack at the floor and the head of Tobias the priest rolled out of it. The zealots' leader sagged in his bonds as he saw the seventh of his brothers, decapitated by a madman.

Cyril let him look at the head for a few more moments before he collected it and put it in the haversack. "I believe that is the last of the leadership. Save for you." He said, tonelessly as he removed his Saw Cleaver from the harness on his back. He began sharpening it.

"Tomorrow, we have an appointment with my employer." Cyril's voice brokered no argument. "Your fate has been sealed the moment I caught you."

"You won't touch me heretic!" Zachariah screamed at him. "I'll avenge my brothers, and I will watch as you burn in the Chief God's radiance!"

Zachariah gasped as Cyril reached down and grabbed his mouth. Such was his strength that the fat priest's jaw bones began to creak. Muffled screaming erupted, and Cyril was tempted to crush this man's skull. But he relented.

"You should consider yourself fortunate." The Hunter's voice was a low, sibilant hiss. His cruel gaze completely enraged. "The only reason you are alive is because of the value my employer places on whatever information you have in your head. I would have gladly carved you up otherwise."

Cyril let go of Zachariah's jaw, then slugged the man in the face. Hard. Blood sprayed across the wall and teeth clattered against the wooden floor. The priest began to weep in terror as the coppery tang of bloodlust permeated the abandoned house.

"Your god isn't here." Cyril growled. "There is only _**me**_."

The Hunter stepped back and let the priest weep.

Cyril stepped into the shadows. He would grieve later, grieve for the dwarf who gave him a roof over his head. And the elf who showed him such kindness he had long since thought was nothing more than a Dream.

* * *

The rain was steadily getting worse.

"Sasha!"

Dimas looked around for his compatriot. "Sasha!?" He called out the healer's name. He looked back at the dwarf.

Emil Goldgather scowled at him as he led a catatonic Sierra Underwood with him. "Lad, I'm going to be straight with you: If this healer of yours doesn't come here quick, there's going to be problems."

"Ah...Ah…" Sierra's black hair was caked in blood, and her severe head injury was covered up by a bloody bandage. Her once bright and cheerful personality was lost behind the blank, beautiful face that looked around.

Dimas swore. These two were friends of the new agent apparently, Klaus but Dimas knew him as Cyril. The Highwayman sighed in relief as he saw the sea green hair of Sasha Fullmoon. The woman's gray habit was covered by a white sleeveless tabard, caked in blood.

Her eyes widened at who she saw with Dimas.

"Aye, we've...we've got a problem Miss Fullmoon." Dimas said grimly as he gestured to Emil and Sierra.

Sasha looked at the dwarf and the elf. The dwarf held the elf's hand tightly as she stood, listless, oblivious to everything. His grip tightened when she tried to walk off, babbling.

"What happened?" Sasha asked, a shocked whisper.

"Bastards thought us dead, healer." Emil answered gruffly. "And our...our friend, he is missing. You may know him as Klaus."

"Yes, I know him." Sasha breathed. "We have not seen him for a day either." She turned to Sierra.

"We should get the both of you inside a tent." Sasha gestured for all of them to follow her. "Dimas, tell me how you found these two."

"It's not a long story; guard thought they were dead and...the elf started screaming which woke the dwarf up."

Emil glowered at Dimas.

"The dwarf says he's fine." Dimas stepped away from Emil. He had been in a bar fight alongside a dwarf once and provoking someone who was within easy reach of your crotch was never a good idea. "The elf...I didn't know who else to go to." The highwayman looked terrible.

Sasha looked at Sierra. Never had she seen such a thing. How hard had she been hit in the head? Or did Zachariah do something far worse? Worse enough to risk the attention of a wrathful Hunter?

"Dimas, get them a tent." Sasha said seriously. "Hastur and I shall find Master Klaus and bring him here."

"Let me come with you." Dimas started. "It isn't safe to just be going off on your lonesome."

"No." Sasha was firm in her decision. "Sir Hastur and a couple of guardsmen should be enough."

"Why? Why the haste? If our friend is out there doing work then let him!" Dimas argued with Sasha.

"He has to know...Otherwise I fear for our enemies." Sasha spoke gravely. It was serious enough for her to say something like that. "And who is to say that he will not turn against us for doing nothing?"

Dimas flinched, but he nodded reluctantly. He was sure Master Sutherland was good on his own though... "Come on, dwarf." He said softly. "Let's get you both out of this rain."

"Come, lass." Emil led Sierra forward, the elf babbling again. Her eyes kept drifting towards the city, as if she was looking for something.

/

Jophiel let out a sigh as she allowed the crystal mirror to shatter back into pieces. The Valkyrie swept her arm and the crystals entered the pouch on her belt on their own volition. She fucked up, and the knowledge stung. Her report had been made to the leader of her Choir and Ruhiel was not someone she would cross.

She honestly felt like crying. She had intended this as a show of force, and Zachariah had made a mockery of the cause of the Chief God. The Valkyrie should have reigned them in but she didn't. Now, the slaughter had galvanized the city's people, their grief and shock quickly turning into volatile rage.

Nobility and commoner alike condemned the Order for allowing this to happen. She had seen priests, good men who led the Chief God's flock, stoned in the streets even when they had not been involved. Jophiel had her orders to remain hidden but that bastard Zachariah...She had not seen him for an entire day. Then again, with many of Sheffield's people waking up to what was essentially a declaration of war from the Order she wasn't surprised.

He would have been torn apart in the streets had they found out his culpability in the tragic events that happened within these walls.

Jophiel looked outside of the window. The middle class couple that had decided to shelter her were also staying inside, in fear of what had happened during the Union Festival and the resulting anger of the populace.

She feared for them, this old man and woman who kept to themselves and their worship in their homes. Unlike the firebrand Zachariah, these two were simple folk who prayed to the Chief God for their prosperity and the continuity of their human lives. Jophiel would not allow these two to become monsters, or to be killed by a misunderstanding.

The Valkyrie exhaled. There was no doubt about it. She was going to have to make an appeal to the leaders of Sheffield itself. The neutral territories had allowed Order preachers and practitioners into their lands provided that they followed the laws of the Oberon league but they also allowed the monsters in.

How could such a thing be allowed to happen? Surely the Founders would have known the consequences…

Jophiel laughed to herself as she interrupted that tangent. The Founders of the Oberon League would not see it that way, especially with her inaction. She had wanted a protest, not a bloody massacre. Jophiel cursed herself for what had happened. There was no other way, she was going to have to make an appeal to the Black Dragon herself.

Ancalagon the Grim considered the city her hoard.

And pity the fool who thought to harm a Dragon's hoard in any way.

* * *

The situation, Fina mused, was indeed truly fucked.

The Dhampir watched quietly as Elt argued with Wilmarina over whether they should sneak out of the city or stay here and continue trying to search for the Moon Scented Hunter. Elt argued that with the situation deteriorating in Sheffield, they should have pulled out a long time ago. Wilmarina's wishes were to continue with the objective; they were so close now, she had said, they could do this if they worked patiently.

Elt didn't see it that way and for once, Fina agreed with the poor bastard. Wilmarina had taken this job because she was the only one willing to go after the Hunter. The man was indeed a threat to everything she held dear, true. But her darling Elt went along with this only to keep her safe. That wasn't the worst of it though, their lead scout Primera had not reported in for a whole day.

Ursula had counseled Wilmarina to be patient, Primera had a good head on her shoulders but…

To not even send a message to say that she was fine was concerning. Elt wanted to head out and look for her but that would just create questions that they could not afford to answer. Fina could have gone but she highly doubted her chances of survival should she encounter the Hunter. Primera was their lead scout, Fina did not know her personally but Elt had assured her that Primera knew what she was doing.

Hence why they were stuck here without any news. Stuck in a city with potentially hazardous occupants because the Order decided that they did not like what was happening in Sheffield and had decided to teach the Oberon League a lesson.

Already they were hearing rumors that zealots had been hunted down piece by piece. It was obvious that the Butcher of Lescatie was responsible. Fina sighed. Mimil and Ursula had gone down to get breakfast. Wilmarina was busy trying to plan out what they were going to do. Elt was standing outside, hood on.

Mimil's disguise charms were working. But Primera being discovered was an inherently bad outcome for them all. Fina looked outside the window. It was a rainy day. She missed both Natsume and Mom, wondering how the both of them were doing…

The door to their room opened.

"Mimil!?"

Everyone gathered inside as the witch Mimil tried to get her breath back.

"S-Sorry!" She said to everyone. "But, um...Primera's back, she's just getting some water."

"Where's Ursula?" Fina asked.

"Staying on watch." Mimil said. "But...guys…" The diminutive witch's face was grim, a serious occurrence for someone who constantly begged for her Big Brother's attention.

"He is here." Mimil said. "He's fighting the Order. Primera saw him cut down a group of zealots before disappearing."

"Did-Did he know she was watching him?" Elt looked worried.

"No, Elt. I'm fine."

Primera entered next and Mimil quickly closed the door with a word of magic. The half elf half werewolf sat down on one of the beds, looking quite pale. "I saw him alright. There was no way it wasn't the Butcher. He was wearing the hat."

Primera leaned forward, face in her hands. "I thought I got made so I ran for it."

"So he is here…" Wilmarina mused. "We might have a chance…"

"Mary." Elt said sighing. "All of this can go sideways if we decide to just attack him in the middle of the streets. Furthermore, we're in the middle of a city full of angry people. I don't think this is a good idea."

"We still have a mission to complete." Wilmarina's reply was firm but she was understanding.

Fina's reaction was more subdued. There was a chance here, but she was going to have to proceed alone to do it. Going up to quite possibly one of the most dangerous men in the city and pleading her case wasn't exactly something she wanted to do.

A chance was a chance. Fina just needed time to sneak away. Mother would be furious at what she intended but Fina didn't care about that. She just wanted to save her sister.

And she would do whatever it took to save Natsume from herself, even if it meant giving her life for that cause.

* * *

On the dawn of the end of the week, Sheffield was awoken by a massive roar that shook the towers and the battlements of the city-state's capitol. The people, still angered by what had happened during one of their most sacred national holidays looked to the skies as the wings of the Black Dragon herself cast the city within its shadows.

The commoners pointed up at the sky in their awe, knowing full well that their liege had come home from her pilgrimage. They cheered as the dragon made several passes, keen eyes taking in the sight of the place she considered a part of her hoard.

Another roar, this one filled with dread rage as she beheld the damage and smelled the blood that had stained the streets weeks prior.

For the leadership of Sheffield, they clamored to ready themselves to receive the esteemed First Founder of the Oberon League, the great dragon Ancalagon the Grim. Nial Henderson, Lord of the City Guard waited calmly for the summons.

He had much to explain, as did the other lords but he was ready for whatever came.

But despite the calm he showed outside, Nial was completely terrified at the prospect of facing his liege lady and explaining what had happened during the now canceled Union Festival.

In an abandoned house, the Hunter heard the Dragon roaring and saw the despair that had come over Father Zachariah's face. Cyril Sutherland unbound his captive and then proceeded to head outside with the bastard in tow.

"Time to meet your maker." Cyril said to the sobbing priest softly as he dragged his captive out and began his journey towards the central keep, unaware that Sasha and Hastur were approaching from the opposite direction.

Escorted by five guardsmen, Sasha and Hastur rode down the street in haste.

"Is that him, Lady Fullmoon?" Hastur asked as they saw two figures, one of them being dragged forcefully down the street.

Sasha slowed her horse to a stop as she beheld the grim figure of Cyril Sutherland, shoving a fat priest onto his knees.

"Well met." Cyril said, eyes horribly blank as he nodded to Sasha and to Hastur.

"Master Sutherland...You've been gone for almost a week." Hastur spoke first. "What have you been doing? Lord Henderson is beside himself."

"Hunting." Cyril answered, neutrally. "I present to you Father Zachariah, leader of the zealots responsible for the reprehensible crimes that occurred during this festival. I have slain his subordinates, forcing his priesthood into hiding like rats."

"Please...mercy!" Zachariah begged. "Please, get this maniac away from me!"

"Be silent." Sasha told him. "Your fate is in our hands. I am sorry, Father, but your words mean naught to those you have sinned against." The former hero of the Order sighed as she looked at Cyril. There was a tension in the Hunter's body, as if he was barely holding back terrible pain and grief.

"Hastur, get him on a horse. We have to bring this man to the keep. Lord Henderson calls for us." Sasha said. "Are you injured?" She turned her question to Cyril.

"No." The Hunter said quietly. "No I'm not."

Sasha...did not like the way he was sounding.

* * *

"It seems that much has happened before my return home."

Nial Henderson kept his eyes forward, doing as much as he could to avoid looking at the tall, muscular figure that circled the Council table. All twenty seats were occupied save for one, the great chair usually reserved for the Mistress of the City.

Ever lord and lady present stared ahead, some trembled and others whimpered as they heard the loud tread of Ancalagon the Grim. In human form, she resembled a woman almost reaching nine feet tall and her body packed with muscle. A fair face belied the immense strength and pride the creature possessed.

Amber eyes, glowing with restrained indignation, locked onto each noble with frightening clarity. Long black hair was tied back in a severe bun, two bangs framing her severe expression. A Dragon was among the mightiest monsters to fly the sky. Ancalagon was no less a paragon of this lofty image. Her clothing was simple but of the finest make here in Sheffield. Either way, she was a figure of contrasts. Ancalagon was a beauty, of that there was no doubt. But her ten thousand years of life made for a frighteningly experienced individual.

"And yet...I do not understand why." Ancalagon's growl echoed through the council chamber. "It was already discussed with my Lord of the City Guard that there would be extra security provided for the Union Festival."

Ancalagon's ebony claw scraped against the back of a noble's chair, causing the woman sitting in it to begin hyperventilating.

"And yet, according to Nial Henderson...those security funds had been reallocated for personal use among some of you. To...bolster sales of certain products and the advancement of a cause that is the opposite of mine. As a result, none of the guardsmen were trained and Nial was forced to work with only a small band of agents."

The Dragon continued circling, claws sometimes scraping against the back of chairs. Other times, they stroked a lady or lord's arm with disturbing gentleness. Nial exhaled softly, knowing full well that those claws were capable of tearing through plate armor designed by the Dwarves.

"Would you care to explain why this attack happened, Sir Nial Henderson?" Ancalagon returned to her seat, smiling and revealing a row of sharp knife like teeth in a pretty mouth that could also breath an inferno.

"An infiltration, my lady." Nial answered. "By men and women who claim to work for the Order, it seems that it is a retaliation for what had happened in Lescatie."

Ancalagon leaned in her chair, claws put in a steeple, amber eyes narrowed in barely restrained rage. "Go on." She spoke in a growl.

Nial stood up. "My agents have recovered the architect of this tragedy, Father Zachariah of Norsburg." He said. "A former priest of Lescatie, and a firebrand preacher with many connections." He turned to the left to look at two lords and a lady. "Connections to the Ludendorf Trade Company."

The nobles began to protest until Ancalagon raised a hand. "What were these connections, Nial?" Ancalagon asked.

Nial took another breath. "A way into the city. As you...established, lady Ancalagon, the Order may operate in League territory so long as they adhere to the laws of Sheffield. Something they clearly resented as they believed it an affront to the Chief God's power for a secular ruler to have authority over matters of worship. It was also your desire for neutrality between men and monsters that galvanized Zachariah and his ilk to act and so he called upon the favors owed to him by the Ludendorfs."

"That is a lie!" A lord stood up. "Milady, please disregard this man's warmongering blabber! This is clearly a conspiracy to-"

"Baron Fitzgerald Ludendorf." Ancalagon's growl was punctuated by a brief plume of flame as her amber eyes locked onto the portly lord that had suddenly shouted. "If you speak up one more time in my presence I will impale you on one of the spires of my castle keep."

The Dragon's eyes glowed fiercely. "**Shut the fuck up ****and sit down****.**"

Ludendorf sat down quietly and didn't speak another word.

Ancalagon turned her attention to the rest of the council. "I am sincerely disappointed with you all." She spoke without hesitating. "And to find that only one of this council was capable of taking control of the situation is not only embarrassing for me, it is highly irritating."

The Dragon leaned forward. "I suppose I should be more grateful than nothing else has happened. I can take this as a lesson, considering the opposite option." She said. "Otherwise I would be purging half of this council chamber by spilling your guts all over the floor."

"W-What will happen now, my lady?" One noble stammered after a long and awkward pause.

Ancalagon gave a toothy grin as she glared at the man.

"Why, we respond of course."

/

It was on that day, during the start of the summer season, that the world had changed for the worse.

In response to the horrific attack that had happened in Sheffield's territory, Ancalagon the Grim sent a declaration of war to the highest authority of the Order of the Chief God. It was the most shocking event to have ever occurred in the history of the world as it is today and it sent ripples throughout the kingdoms of the continent.

As the Order reeled in response to the accusations levied against them by the Oberon League, they began to meet daily to make a decision as to what to do. War with the League meant that many countries could close their borders to them, weakening not only their military by barring the Order Crusades from recruiting but also severely affecting trade should the League begin making overtures to various merchants to discourage any trade with those affiliated with the Order of the Chief God.

There were some who demanded the chance to invade Sheffield to teach the Black Dragon a lesson, but those cooler and wiser heads prevailed. They would instead try diplomacy first, because the Order could not afford to fight a war on two fronts.

Diplomacy had to work. It had to, because if they were indeed forced to fight on two fronts then it would be nothing more than a disaster in the making.

* * *

Cyril Sutherland looked at the bland face of Sierra Underwood.

"Ah...Ah…" She babbled and reached for his hand, she began to cry. The Hunter nearly shrank back but controlled the urge to do so.

"What happened to her?" He asked Sasha. "What happened to Emil?"

Sasha, wiping her hands on her tabard, sighed as she gently urged the Hunter to sit. She gave up when she saw the relieved light in his eyes fade. "They had both been beaten severely." Sasha explained. "Emil...is a Dwarf so he is a lot tougher than Miss Sierra so her injuries were far more severe."

She looked at Sierra who babbled and kept pulling on Cyril's hand. Sasha could see that the Hunter's heart had broken.

"Emil went back to his hold." Sasha said hesitantly as she saw Cyril's eyes narrow. "He...He does not blame you for what happened to Sierra Underwood. He told me to say that he was sorry for leaving but he has family business to attend to. All because of...well, you know."

Cyril finally sat down next to Sierra, who kept crying. The Hunter reached out and gently patted her head.

"I was supposed to protect the both of them." The Hunter said brokenly. "And I failed. No more."

Cyril removed his hand as he stood up. Sasha saw a terrible thing then, as the Hunter pulled up his bandana.

"I have been running away from what I am for far too long." His voice was sad, regretful but filled with malice. "So be it, Gehrman." He spoke to himself. "I shall take up your mantle as I should have done. This world has need of a Hunter, with all the cruelty and malice that one can muster. The world calls for bloodshed, and I shall answer it."

His red eyes were dead. Sasha felt nothing but sorrow as she saw that there really was nothing else she could have done.

"Tonight. Cyril Sutherland joins the Hunt."


	16. Chapter 16

16

Politics and Dreams

"No...wait...wait...MERCY PLEASE!"

The Hunter's pistol spoke once and Father Zachariah, architect of the Union Festival Massacre, died instantly as Cyril Sutherland shot him in the face. Cyril loaded a new cartridge into his weapon before holstering it.

It was a sunny day, despite the grim occasion. Cyril adjusted his coat before facing the woman who had just witnessed the execution in front of her. The Black Dragon, Ancalagon, leaned her head on one of her claws as she sat down in front of a table sipping tea.

"That's it?" Ancalagon sounded disappointed. "I thought you were going to butcher him? Gouge out his eyes and bite out his tongue and things like that."

Cyril stared at her briefly. "You asked me to kill him, lady." He spoke calmly. "I did as you asked."

Ancalagon picked up the small slice of raw meat served on one of the platters in front of her and tossed it into her mouth. She smiled at Cyril who took his seat in front of her. When the summons came, Nial and his agents had warned him to keep on his toes. Ancalagon was worthy of respect sure but she was said to be capricious, unpredictable in her mannerisms.

"I did." Ancalagon smiled again. There was nothing nice in that smile. "And what a grim, grim personage you are Master Hunter." The Dragon gestured for a maid to pour out a cup of tea for Cyril. Several more, human and otherwise, waited patiently for their mistress' will. It would be obvious to say that all of them were the fairest individuals in the city.

"What have I been summoned for, milady?" Cyril asked softly.

"I wanted to meet the Moon Scented Hunter himself. If you can put a Lilim in a coma and freak everyone else out I suppose I expected someone more...bombastic. More...Evil." Ancalagon took a sip of her tea. How she did so without so much as crushing the tea cup into powder with her claws was anyone's guess. Cyril however could see the immense control she affected to do so. Every movement she made was done with discipline. Every move held reserved power. Cyril wished his focus was so absolute.

"And? What was your impression?" Cyril waited for the answer. He had honestly expected leaving again, and this time he was more than ready to leave corpses in his wake. Ancalagon no doubt was informed of his true nature by Nial Henderson. He did not blame the man for doing so, he had an obligation to the city's leading lady after all.

"A tired young thing." Ancalagon said. "One who has trouble accepting what he is...I would wonder why that is but then again everyone has their secret fears. Fears I do not have." The Dragon set down her tea cup after drinking. She motioned for the maids to clean up.

"I must admit however that I am rather excited about meeting a local hero." Ancalagon gave a deep chuckle as she saw Cyril's eyes narrow slightly. "Don't look at me like that, boy. I speak honestly which is apparently troubling for the refined bourgeoisie here."

The very same nobles she had all censured, such was the verbal lashing they all received many of them weren't very interested in hosting parties. Even Nial wasn't immune but he took that in stride. By her order taxes had been increased...for the noble classes. If this was a normal city the nobles would have revolted.

Considering Ancalagon's reputation and the fact that she was more than capable of destroying entire bloodlines outright, the nobles just bent over and took the taxes. He assumed that the fate of Ludendorf's heir, the man having been strung up for their family's involvement in the Union Festival affair, was more than enough for them to think about the consequences of crossing the Black Dragon. As far as anyone knew, no one disappointed the First Founder twice and lived to tell the tale.

Cyril's eyes drifted towards the castle's towers before he settled on looking Ancalagon in the eye. Dragons were prideful creatures, and greedy. Ancalagon considered the city her 'treasure hoard' so to speak and woe betide anyone who dared to harm it in any way.

No, he didn't get a glimpse of the Ludendorf heir impaled on one of the castle's spires.

"So...what now?" Cyril asked.

Ancalagon smiled humorlessly again. "Well, since dear Nial has you under his employ that means that his agents are now also my agents." The Dragon dismissed her maids. "Walk with me."

It was not a request. Cyril waited for the Dragon to stand first before following her, the entourage of maids and guards following. The Hunter idly wondered why such a creature needed a bodyguard but he guessed that his reputation was now beginning to spread. He wasn't about to take on a Dragon head on, but he guessed it was because they weren't expecting him to be hiding here in Sheffield.

"I take it that you know a little bit of the Oberon league?" Ancalagon questioned him without looking.

"I do my lady." Cyril's answer was neutral. "What do you need me to do?"

"Since the Order has been rather quiet these days, I have a task for you that needs to be completed in Erebus." Ancalagon said. "The newest addition to our wonderful federation. They seem to be having trouble with monster slavers."

Amber eyes locked onto deep crimson. "I suppose this won't be a problem for you?" She asked him.

"What do wish for me to do with the slavers?" Cyril's answer was a question in return. He was not about to play the Dragon's game...whatever it was.

"Ah, now that I have nothing to do with." Ancalagon raised a single claw. "You will be reporting to King Samael the Thirteenth. He was the one who requested an agent to come here, but I am sure that he will appreciate your talents for bloodshed."

"Very well." Cyril acquiesced. He wasn't about to complain, a job is a job.

"You sound so excited, boy." Ancalagon smirked. "I'm just giving you a chance to stretch out your wings. A predator is a predator. It does not need any attachments to something or someone."

"I don't hunt for selfish reasons." Cyril replied, his voice smoldering at the insinuation that he was just some mindless killer...Even if it was true, that knowledge stung a bit.

"Ah, but you do hunt." Ancalagon laughed, a growl full of menace that caused the entourage around her to look briefly in their direction. Cyril could see that none of them wanted to be in the way if a fight was about to erupt. "Because it is in your nature to do so. Don't be so grim, I won't bother trying to pry into your past but I can tell it involved a lot of bloodletting. Something you're quite good at no matter how much you deny it, boy."

The Black Dragon's amber eyes locked onto his. "You'll find that you will take solace in the purity of your purpose soon enough."

/

When the Hunter departed, Ancalagon made her way back to the Aerie, her personal quarters. Sure, the Order _had _to pay for their involvement in the massacre of the Union Festival but the war declaration was just something to test their mettle. Fighting two fronts was always a horrific idea for a nation at war. The Order was continent wide, but its members were distant or idealogicaly different to each other, but even the League would not dare fight it out on fair terms.

Hence why she considered the little madman that had been hiding in her city, the Moon Scented Hunter of legend.

Ancalagon hummed softly to herself as she looked over Sheffield. Her hoard. The zealots were already hunted down. Perhaps she could use that to scare the Order into agreeing to her terms. Already there was a delegation coming to her city, asking to meet with her to settle on whatever she wanted in order to avoid open warfare with the Oberon League.

The League may have a decent military but its real strength was its control over trading routes. The Order used these routes to resupply their crusades and in return, the Order kept away from League interests and the Church would not try to do anything untoward to the monsters that lived in neutral territory.

"Milady?"

Ancalagon heard her door open, revealing Nial Henderson. The lord gave a bow that Ancalagon waved away.

"Good to see the Lord of the Guard up and about." Ancalagon remarked. "Tell me, what do you think of my little scheme to have the Hunter on our side?"

Nial hesitated. "A dangerous game, milady." He said. "Considering that he put down the Fourth Born, and settled the Union massacre alongside my agents...would it be wise to antagonize him by telling him to serve?"

Ancalagon nodded. "Oh I know." She answered Nial's question. "I'm not willing to pay the price of killing that young Hunter in a one on one fight. I suppose there is one thing I can be grateful for in this debacle."

The Black Dragon smiled humorlessly. "I have the ear of a dangerous man when needed." She said. "...How is that little elf friend of his by the way?"

Nial exhaled. "She is being cared for by my agent, Sasha Fullmoon."

"Ah the former warrior nun of the Order of Knights in Lescatie." Ancalagon nodded. "Good, she is in good hands. Keep it that way will you? Dangling a piece of meat in front of a wolf does not work quite as well if the meat just disappears right?"

Nial looked uncomfortable but he nodded. Not just for Ancalagon but he truly believed that if Cyril Sutherland decides to turn against them, even Ancalagon would not survive that man's wrath.

* * *

_You'll find that you will take solace in __the purity of __your __purpose soon enough. _

Somehow, those words stuck with Cyril for quite a while. He waited in the small orphanage of Sasha Fullmoon. On the way here, many folk had finally realized just who was in their midst and cleared a space away from him, as if he would just start cutting people down left and right. It certainly made his journey easier though, with less people in the way he made record time.

As Cyril sat and drank his tea he could feel the watchful gaze of the Salamander child waiting in the room with him. She still carried around a wooden sword, and her eyes were just as fearful as she was back in Lescatie.

He believed her name was Ember, if he recalled that correctly.

Cyril ignored her staring and continued sipping his tea while he waited for Sasha.

The door opened and the former hero of the Order stepped in. She saw Cyril sitting there and gestured for Ember to return to whatever she was doing. Sasha smiled at Cyril. "Sierra has settled in." She told him gently.

"...That's good." Cyril replied.

"I just want to know why you won't see her." Sasha said. "She...was a lot less restless with you around the other day."

"It is my fault that she ended up like that." Cyril's reply was low. "I don't think my presence is a good thing for her."

Sasha observed him. It was how she became quite the good healer after all. "Master Cyril, why Sierra is like this is not your fault. If anything it was the zealots who turned her into what she is right now. You brought whatever justice they deserved upon them." She said firmly. "Some may not like it, but you never really cared about that didn't you?"

Cyril looked at her. His reply was withering. "That's rich coming from you."

Sasha flinched briefly but it seemed that she was tougher than she used to be. But she smiled, rather sheepishly in his opinion. "Of course, I can be called a hypocrite for saying that...but regardless...See her, I know the Black Dragon has a job for you but say good-bye to Sierra at least. I will find a way to contact you about her condition."

The Hunter blinked. "You know there's a big chance I won't be able to return." He pointed out.

"And yet you will." Sasha said. "I cannot imagine what you are feeling right now but this woman has shown you kindness. Kindness that you owe it to yourself to repay. I will do what I can to help her, but you must do your part as well. Come back to her."

Cyril closed his eyes briefly but he nodded. "I'll go say my good-byes then. I'm headed to Erebus."

Sasha nodded. "Be careful." She told him.

/

"Ah!"

Cyril reacted quickly before Sierra could hurt herself, and caught her just as she nearly slipped out of bed. The Hunter grit his teeth as he saw the blankness in Sasha's eyes. Her expression was happy though, even if it tore his heart to shreds.

"Stay seated, Sierra." Cyril gently placed the High Elf's legs back on the bed. He held her hands as he looked directly into her eyes. "I...will be going for a while. Miss Sasha will be your caretaker, so I need you to behave."

The Hunter winced as he heard Sierra babble, but she squeezed his hand. Cyril blinked at first. Surely he imagined it? He sighed. Even if there was a chance that Sierra could properly heal, he was not so sure that Sierra would recover completely. But if she did, she would still hate him for his duplicity and for what he had allowed to happen to her.

That...would be a good thing, right? That meant Sierra had a chance of finding a better life for herself when she healed. She could find another person that would love her, that would care for her. A better man, or woman, than he would ever be. Cyril was a Hunter.

And that was all he would ever be.

Cyril said his good-byes, and swore to do better next time. The Hunter packed up whatever he could get, the Prancing Pony was long since empty but it was now a private haunt for him. Few dared to try and get him out of there. Sasha and the others were concerned but Nial had put a stop to it. The Hunter had honestly scared them all with how withdrawn he seemed.

None of them knew how much hatred smoldered in him, but whether it was for himself or for the waking world no one but the Hunter himself knew.

The Hunter opened the closet that held one of his mightiest weapons. The Holy Moonlight Sword waited patiently for its new master's hand. Cyril again felt the same trepidation for wielding it in battle but shut it down quickly. The arcane might it held was capable of destroying whatever magics the Monsters could use against him. It was also just as capable of slaying mortal foes as well. The sword whispered to him again.

Cyril strapped it to his back on its usual harness. He was quite heavily armed. The steel longsword remained on his hip, the Saw Cleaver at his waist. All in all, he was prepared for whatever came.

"Right then…" He said to himself. "To Erebus."

* * *

Erebus.

The Small Kingdom of the Old Country, as it was called, was the smallest member of the Oberon League. It is famous for the large lakes within its borders, one of which held the capitol in its center. Each King of Erebus took the name of an angel, but Cyril wondered whether it was the angel of the current God or the former one. But as he came to this green yet mysterious land, he found himself feeling overly cautious once more.

He had heard from a man back in one of the many villages that dotted the Small Kingdom that its people were descendants of very skilled raiders who passed down their tactics and their bloody history to their descendants. These Raiders who made a living fighting off not just the Order's steady rise to power but also the monsters who stalked all men. Today was a different story, as centuries of Order preaching and Monster interests had brought down the martial skill of the men and women who lived in the old country.

However, it seemed that the King was planning on changing that as he has declared a personal war against the marauders that entered his kingdom's borders.

Cyril looked around as the ferrymen made good speed towards the capitol of Erebus, Le Fey, the City on the Lake. He stood on the deck of the narrow boat the people of Erebus use to traverse the lakes as they moved from village to city and back again. Le Fey, as its status as the capitol demanded, was the major trade center in the area.

Men and monsters congregated here, but judging from the nervousness of the villages Cyril had passed through something else was up. The Hunter was well aware of the situation here, having heard a lot of rumors about Erebus' current Thirteenth King, Samael the Usurper.

The title was a statement of fact, said to be encouraged by the King himself. Apparently he had taken power because of his father's inaction to stifle both the interests of the Order of the Chief God and the Monster Lord's Extremist Factions.

A coup...Cyril wasn't the most politically savvy but he was sure that revolutions were unheard of in the Waking World. For someone, even a member of the royal family, to forcibly seize the throne was an unthinkable crime against the divine right of kings.

Samael must have had his reasons, his supporters say. Cyril had also heard that the kingdom was under assault from Dark Elf slavers, marauding bandits and internal strife which involved the nobility that supported Samael's father, the venerable former King Uriel the Twelfth and his wife, Arella.

Cyril leaned on the railing. Somehow, he knew he was going to get involved with the politicos anyhow. The Hunter's objectives were to root out the slavers who were causing trouble.

"Master Hunter."

Cyril was shaken out of his thoughts by the boat captain. "We're close to Le Fey, sir. Ten minutes." He said. The people of Erebus were a pale yet stocky folk, grim in demeanor. It was said that Erebus had once been cursed land, and only the sacrifice of its first king kept it from becoming a wasteland. The Hunter did feel a certain mystery about this place.

Cyril counted out the coin for his fare and let the ferrymen do their jobs.

He had work to do once he arrived anyway.

/

Le Fey. The city on the lake. The main roads were in the shape of a cross, each one pointing to cardinal directions. In the center was the keep known as the Spire, where the King resided. As Cyril left the ferry boat, heading down the gangplank and onto the dock he noted the pair waiting for him. One was the fiercest looking Kikimora he had ever seen. Her maid's uniform was augmented by scaled armor plating on her wrists and chest, alongside plated long boots that Cyril caught under her skirt. She carried a long hafted axe in her hand, and a large knife hung at her waist, almost like a sword. She had brown hair and smooth pale skin, a beautiful woman by all accounting save for the fearsome image she presented.

The other was a man in simple garments, yet it was clear that he was of a higher rank than the Kikimora who was likely his guard. Cyril felt the Kikimora's green eyes on him, watching him for any sudden movements. Behind them both was a carriage, the driver a pale old man who gave him a tip of his hat.

Cyril's eyes narrowed.

"Greetings, Master Hunter." The man said bowing his head. Cyril returned the motion. "I am Sebastian, Seneschal to His Royal Majesty Samael. This charming individual next to me is one of his Druzhina-"

"I am Cheramie." The Kikimora interrupted Sebastian. "And I can speak for myself. You are a guest of the King, so do not try anything foolish under my nose or we will have problems."

"Noted." Cyril replied. "I am Cyril Sutherland, Hunter in service to Lady Ancalagon of Sheffield. I was told I could be of assistance to His Majesty? I hear there's trouble in your borders."

"A small problem, Master Sutherland, I assure you. You won't be staying here for long." The seneschal smiled, resembling a slimy creature. Cyril saw Cheramie's eyes narrow in disgust and decided that he had stepped into something far bigger than he expected. The Hunter followed the seneschal and the scowling housecarl. Sebastian began describing Le Fey as they headed towards the central keep through the market town in the carriage.

Cyril sat in front, facing Cheramie and Sebastian. His arms were crossed as he put the seneschal's voice out of his mind momentarily.

"What and who exactly am I up against here?" Cyril asked, finally interrupting Sebastian.

"Pardon me?" Sebastian gasped out but Cheramie sighed in annoyance.

"As you have heard, Master Sutherland." Cheramie spoke. "There are many threats to His Majesty's reign that resulted from his ousting the former king and queen from the throne. Threats such as scheming nobility, marauders who took advantage of the ensuing chaos, and of course Dark Elf slavers who followed the marauders into our lands."

"A trifling matter to be sure." Sebastian said offhandedly.

"Trifling? We have lost an entire village's males to slavers in a single night." Cheramie looked incredulously furious. "The King has his reasons for inviting him here."

Cyril watched them argue, but his hunch was that Sebastian was profiting off of this somehow. He would have to keep an eye on the mustachioed seneschal while he was here. Already he could feel knives in his back.

From the tragedy in Sheffield to the volatile situation in Erebus. What a time to be alive…

* * *

_Sheffield, Monster's Inn_

"Mother! Natsume!"

Fina ran into her mother's arms, squeezing the elder vampire before rounding on the Kunoichi who shyly returned her embrace. "What are you doing here?"

Seras smiled grimly. "We're here on behalf of Greilia Little. I'm leading a delegation of healers to help the city of Sheffield. Other than that little task, I came up here as soon as I heard that you were here with the mission party. Have you been recalled?"

Fina's smile faded which caused Seras to worry. Natsume, knowing how much pressure Fina and Seras were under, gripped both of their hands. She knew who Fina was going after...The very same creature that gave her nightmares every time she closed her eyes to sleep.

"No. Lady Wilmarina is contacting Doctor Greilia and Lord Arthur on how to proceed." Fina answered. "He's not here though."

"So he left again…" Seras mused. "Fina...maybe it's time you stopped working for the extremists…" Her voice turned hesitant. "We won't find him in that kind of wilderness anyhow…"

"Until I find a way to help Natsume, I won't stop." Fina said firmly. "He's the key, I know it."

Seras didn't respond for a moment. "I want you both to be safe." She whispered. "I will not have your deaths on my conscience, Fina. Pursuing this man is suicide, and even if he could cure Natsume of her affliction would he even want to? It was the damned extremists who provoked him."

Fina saw how fragile her mother had become. "Mother-"

"Enough, child." Seras said, teary eyed. "I am so tired of worrying for the both of you. I took this job with that blue skinned cunt because I thought it would help you both grow. Instead I've gotten you both into such a deep hole, I don't know what to do anymore."

Fina stayed silent, watching as Seras put her face in her hands. "I can't bear watching you both die. I can't. Please, Fina. I know I can't stop you...but please, _please, _come back to me alive." Seras spoke brokenly.

The Dhampir held her mother's hand. To the right, Natsume did the same as well.

* * *

_The Hunter's Dream…_

"Hello!?"

Sierra Underwood was extremely confused as to where she was. Hyperventilating, scared and alone, the elf looked around left and right after having awoken in a field of white flowers beneath a great and ancient tree…

She found a footpath and began walking, following it through the thick fog. She eventually reached a fence where she saw the gate left ajar. Sierra walked further down the path until she saw the pale moon appearing in the sky. That was when the fog began to clear and she saw it.

A dusty, old and lonely workshop on a hill next to a graveyard. The door to the workshop was open.

"Hello there." A voice with a strange accent spoke out. "Are you lost? You are not a Hunter."

Sierra stared at the tall woman that emerged. Utterly pale, with gray hair and cool blue eyes the woman was dressed in delicate clothing. Sierra gasped as she saw her hands, mechanical in nature.

"Who-Who are you?" Sierra asked.

The woman bowed her head. She was considerably tall, towering head and shoulders above Sierra. "I am a Doll, the caretaker for this dream...and the Good Hunter. Did you know him?"

"I...I don't know." Sierra shook her head. "But...But I have a friend. He tried to protect us but Emil panicked, I panicked and...I remember being hurt…"

She felt a pounding in her head. "It all seems...like a dream…"

The Doll nodded in understanding. "Please, come inside and rest." She said to Sierra. "You are troubled."

Sierra followed, head pounding.

Where was she?


End file.
